


Finding Kallipolis

by Canttouchthis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry Potter & Daphne Greengrass Friendship, No Statute of Secrecy, Philosophy, Politics, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 122,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis
Summary: One difference in the past has led to a completely different world, where magic is no longer hidden.In the uninhabitable zone, Hermione Granger, Corps Lieutenant, finds a passed out Death Eater a half-kilometer from her home. Meanwhile in London, Harry Potter, the youngest wizarding representative to the WEA parliament, navigates politics and an attempt on his life.Beneath the politics and the secrets, the silent threat of a falling birth rate weighs heavily on all humanity.[Kallipolis: Greek for ‘the beautiful city’; Plato’s theoretical utopia]
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 611
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I do not own Harry Potter. 
> 
> **Author’s Note** : This is _very_ AU – we diverge from canon prior to Book 1. At its core, this story explores all our favorite Harry Potter characters and how their lives would unfold in a world where the Magical and Muggle are intertwined, with quite a few twists and turns along the way.
> 
> I will be updating every **Wednesday** and **Sunday** until this story is complete. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the ride – I’ve had a thrill writing it. I’d love to hear any feedback, questions, theories or comments. I’m also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners and crack.
> 
> Lastly, thank you to my beta [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl) for making this readable.

##  **Part 1: Politics**

_“How could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads?” – Plato, Allegory of the Cave, the Republic_

###  **Chapter 1**

_50 kilometers west of Aberdeen – uninhabitable zone_ _  
October 8, 2006_

Hermione was a mere half-kilometer from her cabin when she recognized a disturbance in the otherwise pristine forest. A black clad figure lay against an old oak tree. 

She stepped cautiously towards the figure, a Corps-issued knife gripped in her right hand. She paused, willing her ears to identify the creature, but the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the soft buzz of the insects. A half-foot away she gasped; the figure coming into focus was clearly a _man_ – and dressed in only a robe!

Reaching the stranger, she struggled for a moment to flip the man over, herself clad in a full protective suit. Her eyes went wide - he didn’t have a breather on! She removed her backpack and pulled out her emergency apparatus, hastily placing it over the man’s mouth and nose. She paused for a moment, her right ear hovering over his lips, and sighed in relief when she heard the telltale sign of breathing.

Immediate worry averted, she looked once again at the man and debated how she was going to manage to get him the half kilometer back to her home. She looked down at her cart, nearly half full with an assortment of samples she meticulously procured in the forest that morning, and with a regretful sigh removed the flora to make space for the man.

The trek back to her cabin was relatively short – she typically trekked for hours, gathering specimens in these woods. She chuckled to herself that indeed this was a unique specimen. As far as she was aware, the closest humans were 50 kilometers to the east of her in Aberdeen. And judging by the state of the man in question – the cleanliness of his robes and lack of sand covering his boots – there was no way this man completed that journey.

This meant he must have come from the west – which made him truly a fascinating subject. She paused on her hike to pull up his right sleeve and her eyes lit up when she saw the wand securely fastened to a holster. She grabbed it – for safety of course, though she had to admit she was very curious. Other than her wizard mentor in the Corps she had never been close with any magicals, but she found them utterly _fascinating_. She always felt in another lifetime perhaps she would have been a magical, but in this one, she didn’t seem to have even a drop of magical ability.

Pulling up his left sleeve confirmed her other hypothesis: there lay the Dark Mark – just as Voldemort described in his book! It sat on his left forearm, barely moving, and she struggled to look away – mesmerized by the magical tattoo. She skimmed her hand inches from his skin but resisted touching it, replacing his sleeve and refocusing on her hike.

Reaching her cabin, she dragged the man into the decontamination shower, a bit concerned when her rough removal of his clothes and the scalding shower failed to elicit a response. She breathed a sigh of relief once she had managed to drag him onto her small couch in the living room – wrapped only in a terry cloth towel. The exertion of the activity wore her down more than she expected, and she made a mental note to adjust her athletic routine accordingly.

She looked at him, his breather removed, and assumed him around her age. _Attractive too,_ she thought, admiring his sharp edges and impossibly blonde hair. He appeared reasonably athletic – though she felt without a wand he was unlikely a threat to her, in spite of his larger size. His skin was smooth – but for a curious shaped scar marking his right shoulder. Hermione had been alone for a long time – her encounters with other people limited to supply runs, their faces typically covered in some sort of breathing apparatus. 

Shaking out of her reverie, she dropped his wand into the glass cylinder in her research lab. Immediately, an electronic whirring sound hummed – data from the wand pouring into the nearby computer. Hermione smiled, satisfied, and grabbed the small medical kit before exiting her lab, taking extra care to ensure her lab was secure.

Reentering her living room, she placed a finger beneath the man’s nose to confirm he was still breathing, before roughly inserting a syringe in a vein in his right arm and removing 4 vials of blood. Marked and sealed, she shook one of the little vials in front of her face, her eyes failing to identify any differentiating nuances. _Fascinating,_ she thought again, quickly moving to her lab to place one vial in the centrifuge and the others in the refrigerator.

Moving to her desk, she unlocked the bottom right drawer and pulled out her sat phone, calling her Commanding Officer.

“Muncie.” 

“Captain Muncie – this is Lieutenant Granger. I have – a situation,” Hermione started. 

“Granger?” She could practically see her CO jolt upright at his desk, perhaps scrambling for his day book. “Your next check in isn’t for 5 days.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was in the forest – quadrant 3 – when I came across a civilian unprotected on the forest floor. Male, 20’s, roughly 6 feet tall, and,” she paused a moment, the excitement clear in her voice, “he’s a Death Eater. I saw his mark and confiscated his wand.”

There was a pregnant pause – Hermione wasn’t clear how much of it was Muncie’s hesitation rather than the lag inherent to satellite communications. “Status report?” he inquired, his voice the gruff tone one expects from a decorated Corps Captain.

“He’s still unconscious but breathing. I applied a breather upon discovery and put him in a decontamination shower. I’ve started testing on his blood to determine the level of radioactivity.” She conveniently did not mention the three additional vials she had taken for later study. “I’ve removed and secured his wand. I do not believe he represents a threat at this time.”

“Understood. Please report back once the civilian is awake.”

“Will do sir.”

Before returning to her living room, she checked on her ongoing experiments and the status of her analysis of the wizard’s wand and blood. Her eyebrows raised upon seeing the wand’s compositions. “Hawthorne wood and unicorn hair?” she mumbled aloud. Of course, without additional samples from other wands, her ability to analyze and draw conclusions was negligible. 

A soft beeping confirmed the blood analysis was complete. She turned to her printer and grabbed the short stack of papers, her eyes shifting left and right as a puzzle began to form. _Fascinating,_ she thought, grabbing her readers from where they sat atop her keyboard and reviewing the analysis results in depth. She paused, rummaging through another desk to find a particular folder.

“Interesting.” She bit her lip as she compared the mysterious wizard’s blood to the five samples she had previously been provided. Of course, a sample of five was not sufficient to draw conclusions, particularly given the samples had not been drawn in a controlled environment. Nonetheless, what this new wizard’s blood showed went completely against her existing hypotheses! “Unless…” she mumbled out loud, a pen now dangling from her lip as she considered the possibilities.

The blood results _did_ identify that he was suffering from limited acute radiation sickness. His levels were just shy of critical – had she found him even an hour later he would likely not have survived. As it was, he would only require one dose of anti-radiation treatment. Frowning once more at the results, she quickly filed them before returning to the living room with the treatment.

The man shifted slightly on the couch. Hermione guessed he would be awake in a few hours, potentially less. After injecting the anti-radiation treatment into his neck, she realized he was still wearing only a towel. “Oh,” she mumbled, reddening on instinct. She grabbed his robe and under things, now fully decontaminated, and placed them on the small coffee table next to the couch. Biting the inside of her cheek, she grabbed a book and sat on a chair in her kitchenette, hoping to distract herself as she waited for her guest to wake up.

* * *

Draco grumbled, his head fuzzy as his consciousness slowly floated to the surface. He tried to recall where he was – though the last thing he remembered was his mind growing light as he trekked through never ending woods. Judging by the feel of the surface he currently lay on, he was no longer on the forest floor.

Panic suddenly struck him with his next realization – he was naked and without his _wand_. He reached down and sighed in relief upon feeling the cloth covering his lower extremities. He was gathering his wits and preparing to open his eyes when he heard a grating voice.

“Good, you’re awake,” the voice called. He attempted to say something but no words came out – just a soft whine. “Oh, my apologies – of course – you need water.” He heard a shuffling and then footsteps approached. “Here,” the voice was now right next to him, and he recognized it as distinctly female. “Open your mouth – I promise it’s not poison.” He obeyed, realizing just how parched his throat and mouth was. He took two large gulps and opened his eyes, taken aback by the slight girl – woman - who couldn’t have been much older than him. She put the cup down and seemed to be analyzing him, looking him over and mumbling incoherently to herself.

“My apologies for undressing you – you required a decontamination shower. You suffered from radiation poisoning.” She now pointed to the table in front of him. “Get dressed. I’ll bring you something to eat.” She nodded and abruptly left without waiting for a response.

The brightness of the room was alarming – thick windows covered one wall while the others were painted a light peach. Unimpressive paintings hung sparsely along with a small frozen photo that was too far away to make out more than fuzzy people. Two bookshelves stood – both overflowing – along with a stack of books on the floor between. A small box stood across from where he sat – some Muggle device whose purpose he could not identify.

Sitting up, he took a moment to stretch his limbs, checking for curses or poisons. He frowned – unable to detect _anything_ and not quite sure what that meant. Solving one problem at a time, he got dressed, pleased his clothes appeared clean. Standing, he took another look around, realizing how small the room was and noticing the hallway with two doors to his right.

“Good. You’re dressed!” He jumped as he heard the woman come from behind. Turning to face her, he noticed she came out of a rather sad looking kitchen with a small table and a single chair. She carried a plate with a new glass of water and gave him a hesitant smile, gesturing to the small table in front of the couch. He nodded and sat, now wide awake and wary.

He mumbled a brief, “Thank you” before turning to the food – a simple sandwich. It didn’t look poisoned, but he wasn’t quite sure what a poisoned sandwich would look like. He attempted some wandless magic, his brows furrowed as he felt absolutely nothing.

“Did you do something to me?” he asked, startled when the woman was missing. She returned with the chair from the kitchen, pulling it up to the other side of the coffee table in front of the rectangular Muggle device.

“I found you in the forest – you were in the uninhabitable zone without even a breather! You’re lucky to be alive,” she explained, shaking her head in disbelief. “Anyways, I brought you here - this is my home. After the decontamination, I gave you radiation treatment and then waited for you to wake up.” She finished and then looked at him quizzically, “Why? Is something wrong?”

Draco looked at her suspiciously. “Where are we? Where is my wand?”

“We’re nowhere really – 80 squares kilometers of uninhabitable earth. I live here.” She shrugged, taking a sip of tea from her mug.

“What do you mean uninhabitable earth?” he asked, confused, heart racing.

“Just what it means. The nuke went off and boom.” She made a gesture with her hand. He cocked his head to the right, still not understanding. “Basically, there was a very big bomb. It made it impossible for people to live here.”

“Then how do you live here?”

“I only go out in protective gear. And I’m very careful,” she explained with a smirk.

“Who are you?” 

“Dr. Hermione Granger. Corps Lieutenant.” She sat up straight.

He looked at her thoughtfully, his face portraying an array of emotions. She looked at him in continued fascination. “Are you a Muggle?” His tone was accusatory – almost betrayed.

“Sure.” She shrugged, “Though really you should call me a non-magical. Muggle has a sort of nasty feel to it.”

“You will give me my wand,” he demanded.

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head, clearly amused, “I don’t know you - from what I know of your group you all aren’t exactly friendly with non-magicals. I’ll be holding on to it for the time being.”

“Of course you will – are you planning to steal my magic?” His tone was sharp.

“What magic?” she asked, a single eyebrow raised. His eyes went wide and his face red. “It was just fascinating – when you arrived here, I took a vial of your blood and I couldn’t identify a single magical protein. But,” she paused, her eyes alight, “your antibodies showed clear evidence of magic use. Indicating you had magic but recently lost it – or perhaps the radiation poisoning had an impact. I’ve never seen anything like it so I’m unable to draw conclusions, but I have a number of hypotheses on the matter.”

“So I am your prisoner then,” he stated haughtily.

“Of course not.” She smiled, “But I would not recommend leaving here – you know – uninhabitable earth.” She looked down and frowned slightly. “I promise – I mean you no harm. The sandwich isn’t poisoned. I made my favorite – a roast beef with Havarti on rye. You’re lucky you got here shortly after a supply run – only time I have roast beef and mayo.” She nodded encouragingly.

Draco’s stomach audibly growled and he relented, grabbing the sandwich, pleasantly surprised at the first bite.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” She smiled, grabbing a small notebook and pen to her side. “Can you tell me your name and why you were in my forest?”

“Draco Malfoy,” he told her, quickly finishing half of his sandwich and taking a long gulp of the ice water.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Draco. And you are here because?”

“I left home – I thought this was neutral territory,” he responded vaguely.

"Well, not quite. No one lives in the 80 km between Death Eater sovereign land and Aberdeen. The land is uninhabitable," she confirmed with a shrug, “were you trying to go to Aberdeen?” she asked.

He looked confused. “I was just – trying to go.”

Her eyes were squinted but she shook her head. “I’ll give you your secrets for now. But assuming you make it to Aberdeen, my superiors will question you. I don’t believe a wizard has left the Death Eaters in over 10 years!” Her eyes once again held deep fascination but she seemed content to leave him be for the moment, putting down her notebook and picking up a book, something called _‘Molecular Biology’_ \- a phrase which meant nothing to him.

He was distinctly uncomfortable with the woman, her words a mystery to him, her mannerisms and behavior inconsistent with the women from home and, frankly, inconsistent with what his muggle studies courses would suggest.

_‘Muggles are first and foremost lesser,’_ he recalled from his lessons. _‘It is an undisputed fact that witches and wizards were gifted powers Muggles cannot comprehend. Muggles fear us. They envy us.’_ He watched the woman – Hermione – he reminded himself. She sat on her chair, her glasses dangling on the bottom of her nose as her eyes darted across the page.

_‘When the Muggles found out about us, they sought our destruction. We fought and earned our sovereignty – through our superiority.’_ He wondered now, looking at the girl, whose eyes showed no fear, who claimed to have saved his life, just what the hell he had gotten himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

_London_   
_October 8, 2006_

“Your tie is crooked.” 

Harry jumped at the intrusion, smiling as he recognized the visitor. “Daphne.” 

She beckoned him to her – he complied and she straightened his tie, looking at him thoughtfully before attempting (and failing) to straighten his hair with her fingers. “Are you ready for today?” she asked, a pensive expression marking her face.

Two years earlier, Harry Potter was the youngest representative ever elected to the Western European Alliance (more often referred to as the WEA) parliament. It had been a brutal election – the two primary wizarding factions were particularly divisive. Harry championed continued cooperation with Muggles – or non-magicals, the more politically correct term. His opponents wanted a return to enclaves and isolationism. 

Today, parliament was debating the continued role and funding of the Corps. As far as Harry was concerned, the Corps were a shining example of the ingenuity of combining wizarding and non-magical culture. The Corps was the military force behind the WEA, consisting of both magicals and non-magicals. In the past few years, the Corps had been granted increased funding and a new mandate for research and development related to the magical alteration of non-magical technology and vice versa.

The resulting technology included anti-apparation satellites and wand disruptors, amongst other gadgets leveraged by both the non-magical detectives and wizarding Aurors. While politically, these advances helped witches and wizards in their ongoing negotiations with their non-magical counterparts, individual witches and wizards grew resentful. Thus, the isolationist factions continued to grow, feeding on the residual fears many still felt towards non-magicals.

“I’m as ready as I will be,” Harry responded, with a tentative grin and a brief nod. 

Daphne walked Harry out, and the pair immediately stood straighter as they began the trek from Harry’s office to the Parliamentary procedure room. Passing spectators and visitors, Harry nodded and shook a few hands as they made their way through the public passageways. A soft ring brought Daphne’s attention to her phone, and her footsteps stopped as she read the message.

“What is it?” Harry frowned from a few feet ahead. He glanced quickly at his watch and Daphne started walking again.

“Just received confirmation on the opposition speaker – apparently it’s Viktor Krum,” Daphne explained, her voice betraying some concern.

Harry quickly adjusted his glasses. “Damn,” he mumbled. There was nothing wrong with Viktor Krum – quite the opposite. He had come to Western Europe as a teenage refugee 13 years earlier, when his home country of Bulgaria found itself in a particularly bloody civil war – a state which continued to this day. His natural charisma and inherent ability to speak plainly had led to a meteoric political rise. He was currently a wizarding representative of Germany – the only non-native to the WEA to achieve such a position. Krum was typically an advocate for magical and non-magical relations, and he and Harry were ordinarily on the same side of these issues.

_Until now,_ thought Harry harshly. They were turning towards the representatives’ entrance to the procedure room when an unpleasant voice interrupted his thoughts. “Mr. Potter!” 

Harry closed his eyes and took a breath before turning around and smiling. “Mr. Parkinson. I didn’t know you would be here today?”

Elijah Parkinson made a point to look taken aback before responding. “You know I wouldn’t miss such a substantial vote! What is it that I’ve heard about you as the speaker for the bill?” He raised his eyebrows dramatically.

“You very well know I co-signed the bill,” Harry started, speaking plainly. “I understand your concerns, but the Corps is the only entity that has the infrastructure needed to handle the issues at hand.”

“Mr. Potter – you are being naïve,” Elijah smiled condescendingly. “The Corps is still very _young_ in the scheme of things. And they are well funded! I have just learned,” Harry closed his eyes briefly to avoid rolling them, “that Pelia’s Potioneers has a working hypothesis on the birth rate matter. But-“

“But they need funding to explore it,” Harry predicted in monotone.

Elijah’s eyes lit up. “Exactly! What is it the Muggles say? ‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket?’”

Harry shook his head. “Granting funding to the Corps does not preclude funding to other entities. In fact, a part of the Corps’ funding requires them to subcontract to both magical and non-magical companies.”

Elijah laughed. “Oh, I read your bill. The requirements to be considered for subcontracting is _patently absurd_.”

“How so?” Harry asked.

“You are requiring wizarding companies to hire and _work with_ Muggles. Why – for many of these companies, it’s just not possible! How can you expect muggles to work on potions or work with magical creatures? It’s unrealistic!” Elijah shook his head. “Don’t forget Mr. Potter – you represent _all_ of magical Britain – not just the idealists who elected you.” This last part was clearly stated as a threat.

Harry pondered this and exhaled, “Mr. Parkinson – I understand you and your constituents' concerns. But this bill has been extensively reviewed, and the time for debate is over. I _am_ speaking for it because I _believe_ it is what we need to move forward.” He took a deep breath and finished, “Now if you’ll excuse me. It was good seeing you.” He shook the older man’s hand.

“A pleasure as always.” Parkinson smiled at Harry and turned to Daphne with a far softer expression. “Daphne – looking lovely as always.” Harry rolled his eyes this time, safe now that Parkinson’s attention was diverted.

“Mr. Parkinson – how is Pansy doing? I miss her dearly,” Daphne responded softly with a kind smile on her face.

“Oh, you know Pansy – she’s taking Paris by storm.” Parkinson’s eyes held a glint of pride as he spoke with fondness for his only daughter. “I keep hoping she’ll meet a nice man,” he finished with a chuckle.

Daphne gave an indulgent smile – used to his constant berating of Pansy for being perpetually _single_. Even though she was a highly successful editor, no amount of personal success seemed to make up for this fact. “Well – the next time you speak with her, remind her to call me.”

Elijah shook his head. “You young people and your Muggle technology.” And with a brief nod goodbye he departed, leaving Harry and Daphne right outside the speaking chambers.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Harry remarked, smirking at Daphne.

“Years and years of practice.” She shook her head and they both turned upon hearing the chamber door open - a Corps Sergeant beckoning Harry in. He gave Daphne a playful salute before entering, leaving her to rush to the public chambers for viewing.

Daphne reached the balcony, taking the seat towards the front saved for her. “Thank you,” she whispered. James Potter gave her a slight nod before returning to his notes. _38 individuals in public chambers, 8 magicals, representatives from Sweden missing…_ Daphne watched her future father-in-law notate each and every fact as they waited for Harry’s turn to speak.

“In support of the legislation to add WEA100 million in funding to the Corps for the purposes of additional scientific and industrial research, the Honorable Harry James Potter – junior magical representative of England,” the WEA secretary, a stout non-magical man, boomed.

The room was silent. “Good afternoon ladies and gentleman – and thank you for your time,” Harry started. He looked down at his notes and took a purposeful exhale, removing his glasses and looking out into the audience, now a blurry mess, before returning them to the bridge of his nose. Daphne smiled and nodded approvingly at the gesture – _remind the non-magicals that we’re all human._

“Seventeen years ago, the world forever changed as we knew it. The exposure of magic led to the rise of the fundamentalist movement, and humanity entered a very dark moment.” Harry looked at Daphne, who gave a small encouraging nod, before continuing. “15 years ago, _my_ life was forever changed.” He shifted somewhat uncomfortably, a flash of grief marking his features momentarily. No one had to ask what he was referring to – Harry Potter’s story was legendary. He avoided his father’s gaze and instead shifted his eyes to where the Scandinavian delegation typically sat. “It took a tragedy for magicals and non-magicals to start working together. The Corps is the crowning achievement of that work. It has effectively kept the peace and unprecedented unity in the Western European Alliance. While other countries remain hopelessly stuck in civil war, we have started to rebuild!”

Harry took a moment to analyze the crowd. Most people looked unaffected and he sighed, brushing his unruly hair. “The problem facing us now is catastrophic,” he stated bluntly – finally garnering everyone’s attention. “The fundamentalists represented a _physical_ threat to our existence – perhaps that’s why it was relatively _easy_ to come together and overcome it – but make no mistake – the current crisis,” he paused once again, giving off the appearance of a tired man in search of just the right word, “would mean all of mankind’s extinction.”

There was whispering in the crowd – some eye rolling, even laughter. Harry gave them a moment to settle down before continuing, “I’ve been in touch with our region’s experts – and our sources from around the world have confirmed consistent data in other countries. I can say, with 80% certainty, that as of three weeks ago, _the global birth rate has dropped to zero_.

“I don’t say this to be alarmist. I say this to be honest – if we are not able to resolve this issue, mankind will surely cease to exist – magical and non-magical alike.

“The greatest scientific minds have determined that this crisis is unprecedented. There is _no logical explanation_ – scientific or magical. This bill,” Harry now held up a print out of the 285-page document for effect, “will provide the Corps the funding needed to expand their research. We need the greatest minds in the WEA on this. It’s that or-“ he paused, looking down for just a moment, “we will be the last humans to walk the earth.” Harry stepped off the podium and took the seat to his right, nerves still shooting through him. He saw Daphne give him an encouraging nod, and he did his best to smile back as he heard the door behind him open, and Viktor Krum stepped through.

Viktor gave Harry a polite nod as he waited for the Secretary to announce him. Harry, only minimally conversant in German, put on the translating headphones and sat upright, appearing calm and collected.

“Thank you for your time today,” Viktor began. His voice was deep, though the English translator spoke with a bright accent, jarring Harry for a moment. “I am not here to downplay the Corps – I agree with my esteemed associate,” he gestured now towards Harry who did his best to remain stoic, “that the Corps represents an outstanding cooperation between the magicals and non-magicals. 

“I came to Germany from a country embroiled in conflict – so many factions – fundamentalists, isolationists, all of them vying for their policy. In the WEA, we have found a way to take our individualism and foster healthy debate. It is the bedrock of the Alliance. And I once again am humbled to be counted amongst you.

“The Corps keeps us _safe_ . I make no illusions about the world outside our borders – but it is the Corps and _fear_ of the Corps that let us live in relative peace. I say this so that it is clear – I don’t oppose this bill out of lack of respect or confidence in the Corps. Quite the contrary, I owe everything to the Corps.” Viktor looked to the left and smiled at a woman in the public viewing area – Harry recognized Viktor’s wife, Alysia, who also happened to be a non-magical colonel in the Corps. _Crap,_ he thought as he watched his opponent continue.

“Part of what makes the Corps so effective is their _limited_ purpose. They do not control our industry – they are responsible for _protecting us_. And that is what they do well! Expanding their funding and purpose would only result in one of two things – either they may become less able to complete their primary function or,” Krum paused, his eyes roving over the Representatives, “they may, with too much power and scope, become a threat.” 

This caused a small stir and Krum put his hands up in surrender. “I do not say this to be malicious! As I’ve said, I know I would not be here without the Corps. But throughout history, we’ve seen people, governments, and corporations all fall victim to their own power. To think our own Corps is immune to this is –“ he paused and looked at Harry, his face apologetic, “arrogant.” Krum gulped, turning back to face his fellow representatives.

Harry felt his face and neck grow red but did his best to remain calm and tried to coax his mouth into a slight smile. He was sure Daphne would tell him later if he was successful. Distracted, he missed a small chunk of Krum’s speech, “-agree with Mr. Potter that the decline in birth rate is a true threat to our existence – but I believe Parliament needs to do more due diligence before we make further investment.” He finished with a small head tilt and sat in the seat to the left of the podium, directly opposite Harry.

“Thank you Mr. Potter and Mr. Krum, order,” the secretary commanded. “With the conclusion of speakers, we will bring the matter to a vote.”

Harry pulled the voting device out of the pocket in front of him – entering his code and clicking _Yes_ for the passage of the bill. He turned his gaze to the public viewing area; Daphne looked anxious – fidgeting, unable to keep still. His father met his eye and gave just the slightest shake of his head. _Shit,_ Harry thought again. His dad had a knack for these things – he must have seen _something_ to make him believe the bill was not going to go his way.

“With 85 representatives present, we have 36 yays and 40 nays, with 9 abstaining. The bill is defeated.” Harry let out a sigh and stood up. Aware of the eyes on him, he made a point to turn to Krum and shake his hand. “Always good to see you Viktor.” Harry smiled, though – in spite of his friendship with Krum – the action felt forced.

“And you – apologies for the circumstances,” Viktor responded, his voice earnest.

The pair exited and went their separate ways – Harry waited for the rest of the representatives to vacate the meeting room before rounding the corner, literally bumping into Daphne, who seemed to have the same idea.

“You alright?” she asked, grabbing Harry’s elbow and walking him to his office.

“I’ll be fine.” He attempted to smile but it fell short.

“You’re doing it again aren’t you,” she accused him.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it!” Harry started. “I mean, I know we talked about it, but what if he’s right? We put too much on the Corps and put ourselves at risk.”

“You are a brilliant, kind, and empathetic man,” Daphne started, “but you are a LOUSY politician. We accounted for all of this in the bill! The requirements for subcontracting, the continued monitoring and evaluation. You have to give yourself – and me, your trusted advisor – more credit!”

Harry felt a genuine smile pull on his lips. He had met Daphne in secondary school – both their fathers had sent them to a boarding school outside of Oxford, the first attempt at a combined magical/non-magical school in the country. They were the only two magicals in their year and became very close friends.

After secondary school, Harry went into public service, getting a job as a clerk for a non-magical representative, while Daphne studied public policy at the London Institute. It was at this point her father had insisted it was time for her to marry a nice pureblood; while he may have sent her to a relatively progressive secondary school, he had certain beliefs he held onto from before the _Event_ . He had arranged for her to marry Ernie MacMillan – a boy their age who had the right _breeding_.

Harry shuddered slightly at the memory – amazed that some witches and wizards continued to live in the _old ways_ . Daphne and Harry began a relationship in public purely to appease her father – after all, how could he force her to marry Ernie MacMillan when she was dating _Harry Potter_?! Even if Harry’s mother was a Muggleborn, Harry’s prestige and notoriety were sufficient to back her father off.

It worked – for a while. Eventually, her dad was unhappy with the _speed_ in which their relationship progressed. _Daphne – you are a pretty girl now but you won’t be for long,_ her dad would tell her constantly. They got engaged two years ago, though it was largely to boost Harry’s odds in the election. It had effectively kept her father satisfied – until two months ago when suddenly he started asking _‘Daph – are you really getting married?’_

It wasn’t that Harry and Daphne didn’t love one another. They really did – Harry considered Daphne his best friend. But he recalled watching his parents when he was younger, seeing his mother’s eyes light up when his dad walked into a room. As much as he cared for Daphne, it wasn’t that kind of romantic love. But for the time being, it was politically and personally advantageous to maintain the ruse. So they continued to ignore Anton Greengrass and make excuses like _‘this is Harry’s first term in office._ ’

“You’re right Daph. What would I do without you?” Harry asked rhetorically.

“Let’s hope you never find out.” Daphne smirked and then reached into her pocket to answer her phone as they walked into his office.

“Astoria?” she asked in confusion. She looked to Harry, who shrugged as if to say _‘What would I know, she’s your sister!?’_ “Astoria – slow down – I can’t hear you.” She mouthed an ‘ _I’ll be right back’_ before heading out of Harry’s office.

Harry stretched out his neck and was about to sit down when he heard it, just the softest _tick,_ and was immediately alert. He had just enough time to pull out his wand and shout out a _Protego_ before he was thrown back in an explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs.


	3. Chapter 3

_50 kilometers west of Aberdeen - Uninhabitable zone_   
_October 9, 2006_

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his sleep – the sofa so small his legs dangled off the side. He longed for his massive bed back home in Hogsmeade and turned over in his failing quest to find comfort. Squinting an eye open and noticing the rising sun, he let out a harsh exhale and got up.

After their uncomfortable conversation the night before, Hermione had found a few pieces of clothing that would _potentially_ fit Draco. While he informed her there was _no way in hell_ he would wear any of it, she just shrugged and left him – letting him know she needed to check on her research and would bring him dinner.

He was apoplectic when he learned she expected him to _sleep on the sofa!_ Of course, she didn’t seem to care, just apologized and went into her room, locking the door. He considered leaving but, judging by the scenery visible through the windows, they truly were in the middle of nowhere. He attempted to enter the room Hermione had spent most of the day in – where he suspected she had locked away his wand. But the door wouldn’t budge.

Giving up, he had taken a closer look at his surroundings. The paintings all seemed – well _boring_ was the right word. Impersonal. The small photo only showed a man and a woman along with a young girl – at some nondescript location. The girl looked similar to Hermione and he wondered if perhaps this was her family?

He had looked at the book collection – the first shelf contained many words he was unfamiliar with. He grabbed a book, _‘Applied Quantum Physics’_. He could read it – the writing was familiar but the words were strung together in a way that was utterly nonsensical. The book itself was covered in scribbles, he assumed by Hermione herself, as well as bits of sticky notes with small arrows sticking out every way. Frowning, he had placed it back on the shelf and returned to the couch, contemplating his current predicament for hours before exhaustion overtook him.

This morning, he returned to the bookshelves, hoping he could find _something_ to help pass the time. He had finally recognized something out of the corner of his eye when he heard Hermione…singing?

“What?” he griped instinctually at her. She gave him a soft smile and pulled something off of her _head_. Now he realized that someone or something was speaking out of the wretched device. It was unsettling and he looked at it warily.

“Morning Draco! You’re up early. I’ve started coffee – don’t mind me, just finishing my morning workout. Grab yourself breakfast if you’re hungry!” And she pulled some weird devices from a closet and returned to her room. In and out like a sharp gust of wind – leaving only Draco’s continued fascination – _confusion_ – in her wake.

He went into the kitchen and thought about a mug, but nothing happened. He frowned and tried again, still unable to use even the simplest of magic. Frustrated, and now determined to drink coffee, he located the cabinet with the mugs and grabbed one. 

Coffee in hand, he felt a small sense of accomplishment as he returned to the couch. He took a sip and immediately blanched, overwhelmed by the bitterness. Unwilling to return to the kitchen in search of cream and sugar, he continued taking small sips, wincing at the flavor but appreciative of the soothing aroma. Feeling a little more himself – well as much as he could in this place – he returned to the bookshelf, looking to the bottom right corner where he’d seen a familiar book.

_Why does she have that?_ he thought as his fingertips quaked in anger. He grabbed the book, _gently_ of course. “ _The Pureblood Manifesto.”_ He read the cover out loud, frowning at the additional words on the page, _‘#1 bestseller!’ ‘a history of the wizarding elite’ ‘by the Dark Lord’_. The cover itself showed the Dark Mark, artistically drawn, and the words Pureblood made to look as if the letters were themselves bleeding.

Holding it carefully, he gently opened the book and was horrified by the incessant scribbles that covered the bent pages. Paragraphs were circled, a small piece of paper stuck out – _‘Origin of the bloody mary myth?’_ Each page he thumbed through looked similar – covered in scribbles and notes. He was now breathless, eyes watering, utterly out of his element.

“Oh! You found a book. Sorry – I should have mentioned last night – feel free to read what you like. I’m sure you’re–” she froze, finally seeing his panic. “Is everything OK?” She frowned, her words laced with concern.

“Why?” was all he got out, his eyes darting from the book to her, his chest heaving.

“I’m sorry – you’re going to have to elaborate on that. Why what? There are too many variables for me to guess in this instance.” Hermione responded deliberately, her head completing a familiar tilt to the left.

“Why do you have this book? You – !” he spat at her.

Hermione frowned for only a moment before shrugging. “It’s a book – a very popular one at that.”

“I know what it is!” he exclaimed gruffly. “I don’t understand,” he finished softly, trying to stop the watering in his eyes.

Hermione nodded. “This,” she pointed to the book, “was published maybe eight years ago? My understanding is that Voldemort published it to try and sway more of the magical population to his enclave. I’m unaware if it was successful. You’re familiar with it?” 

He nodded his head, relaxing slightly. “Of course – my father helped conduct research for it. We study it,” he explained. “I just – I don’t understand why he would let muggles have it.”

Hermione simply shrugged. “Magicals and non-magicals are pretty intertwined in most of the WEA.”

“The what? I thought we were in Scotland?” 

“Well,” Hermione started slowly, “we are – but the UK no longer exists, so to speak – we’re in the Western European Alliance – a conglomerate of countries, governed by a magical and non-magical parliamentary body. Protected by the Corps.” She stood proudly

“I still don’t understand.” Draco shook his head, eyes turning back towards the book.

“If it helps, my understanding is the continued popularity of this book has been very lucrative for your people.” She shrugged.

“They’re – popular?” he asked, the word feeling like sand on his tongue.

“Oh – very much so! It’s a fascinating book – a lot of nonsense, historical inaccuracies and a lack of any understanding of basic human biology, but it provides a _very_ unique point of view of magical history,” Hermione explained brightly.

“Historical inaccuracies!” Draco responded under his breath. “This,” he gestured towards the book almost reverently, “is not _‘fascinating’.”_ He used air quotes as he snarled the words. “You’re a foolish woman if you think you – could ever comprehend the Manifesto.” He held his nose up, daring her to argue.

“Ah,” she started, “of course. Non-magicals are – what did he call them?” She snapped her fingers a few times before pointing at Draco. “That’s right – an ‘ _inferior species – less pleasant than a dog but of similar utility. Any intelligence or semblance of such indicates the Muggle is but a puppet of a witch – or an otherwise supernatural oddity’_.” She finished with a triumphant smile. “Is that truly what you think? Am I a dog to you? Or have I been bewitched?”

“I don’t understand you,” he said honestly.

“Well – we’re stuck with each other for nearly three more weeks so you have that much time to figure it out.” She smiled as he sunk into the couch, the conversation overwhelming.

“Three weeks?” he asked, his face a horrified mask.

“Yes. I spoke with my Captain yesterday and gave him an update. They’ll make sure there’s space for you on the next supply run out here,” she explained.

“Then what?” He seemed to be a never-ending fountain of questions. Hermione found the childlike quality endearing.

“Well, I would assume that’s up to you. I’m sure if you asked they would be happy to drop you back off with your people,” she answered. “Of course, it would seem odd that you would trek out in the woods, presumably to find something else, only to return; but I don’t really know you now, do I?” Her smirk stretched to her eyes.

“Will I be taken prisoner?” he asked, suddenly concerned, eyes darting around the room.

“I wouldn’t think so.” Her eyebrows furrowed, head again tilted in a position Draco had come to realize meant she was puzzling something. “Why would you think that?”

“I mean – we’re enemies aren’t we?” he let out, clearly exasperated.

“Are we? I mean, I imagine _I_ may be _your_ enemy, but I don’t really feel malicious intent towards you.” She shrugged.

Draco was getting _sick_ of her nonchalance. “But – we won! You all had to retreat!”

Hermione actually laughed at this. “Won _what?!_ A 50 kilometer stretch of northern Scotland?” She shook her head and grabbed another book – a larger one this time. Thumbing through it, she opened it up and showed him a map. “This,” she pointed to it, “is the world.”

His forehead wrinkled but he nodded in understanding.

“OK, this,” she circled a small part of it, “is the WEA – the Western European Alliance.” 

His breath started quickening again.

“And this,” she took a pen out and placed a dot towards the upper left portion of the WEA, “is your enclave.”

He tried to find a way to refute her, other than spouting a series of profanities, but found himself speechless as she continued, this time her tone more kind. “No one _won_. When the world learned about magic – it went insane. In the end, your people said they would leave everyone alone for an old castle and some land. That’s all,” she finished.

This was impossible – how could the world be so – _large_.

“Do you remember life before the _Event_?” she asked.

He considered this – he’d been nine when it happened. He recalled living in a big house but rarely left. “I don’t know what I thought.” His voice was quiet as he tried to reconcile the two worlds – the one he had been raised _knowing_ , whose history was written here _in this book,_ and the one this – _woman_ claimed knowledge of.

He was still staring at the map, eyes glaring at that _tiny_ dot when a soft alarm went off. “Apologies Draco – I must check an experiment. I left a breakfast sandwich out on the kitchen counter for you.” And without further ado, she was locked behind that second door.

* * *

It was well over two hours later that she finally returned. Draco couldn’t help but notice her hair, a dull brown color, had appeared to multiply in volume. She huffed, blowing a piece purposefully out of her eye in annoyance, before pulling it back with a hair tie and shaking her head as if to shake something clear.

When she reached him, Draco had the manifesto in his hands, reading a passage softly to himself almost as a child would a comforting passage in a favorite story. Hermione softly spoke. “You know, you can watch TV if you’re bored,” she suggested, pointing to the plastic box in front of them.

He gave her a pointed look. “Why would I watch a _box_?” 

Her eye twitched in amusement but she was determined not to tease him. “I’ll show you! Put that down,” she glared at him until he complied, “and scoot over!” He rolled his eyes but nonetheless left some room on the sofa for her to sit.

“This,” she grabbed a rectangle from underneath the coffee table, “is a remote control.” She pointed the rectangle and pressed a button on it, and the plastic box – transfigured into something else!

“Is that a wand?” He grabbed the rectangle from her hand and pointed it towards the manifesto. “ _Wingardium Leviosa”_ , he swished and flicked but nothing happened.

“No,” she said slowly and grabbed the remote gently from him. “It’s a _remote control_. It uses _electronics_ to turn the TV on.” She now clicked another few buttons and suddenly there were people talking on the TV.

_“This just in. We’re continuing to learn about yesterday's explosion at the WEA Parliament Meeting House. No casualties have been reported but as you can see, a number of offices in the English representative wing have been severely damaged.”_ The shot panned to firefighters putting out the last embers of the explosion.

Hermione watched the screen in morbid curiosity until she noticed Draco oddly patting the TV. “What are you doing?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer and feeling yet again like she was babysitting a toddler.

“Where did they come from?” The box didn’t _seem_ big enough for people. It didn’t make sense.

“I have a satellite dish on top of my house. The news is being broadcast from London, the broadcast is then sent to a satellite that orbits the Earth, and then the satellite beams the communication down to us. That information is sent through the different wires in the back,” she got up and pointed to them, “which tell the TV what images to display.”

He looked at her. Blinked once – then twice. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“It’s technology!” She sighed, “I understand that wizards can flick a wand to make things happen. We don’t have it so easy – so we’ve built technology and all sorts of things to enhance our quality of life. 

“Television is very popular. They don’t make too many TV shows or movies these days, but you can still watch old ones and the news. It can be quite entertaining,” she finished. 

“Do you have anything to help me understand?” he asked, looking vulnerable.

She smiled, walking over to her overstuffed bookshelf. “Well, I’m not personally an engineer so I don’t have anything that would help you with understanding how a TV works but – I have this.”

She handed him a book called “Non-Magicals for Dummies.” He looked at her quizzically. “Are you calling me stupid?”

She laughed, “No! It’s a –,” she paused thinking about how to describe it, “series of books that explain things plainly. I believe this was written by a wizard who was very curious about non-magicals.”

“Why do you have it?”

“Research,” she responded with a shrug.

“Why?”

“You say that a lot don’t you?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, well, try waking up in a small house with a muggle and hearing words that make no sense and see how you feel!” His head now pounded.

“Ok, ok. Settle down. I didn’t mean anything by it. There there.” She handed him the book and walked away.

He skimmed through the book, which of course was once again filled with her chicken scratch and highlights. He eventually found a table of contents and skipped to a chapter called _‘The History of the Western European Alliance (WEA).’_

> _After two years of anarchy following the Event, a tragic murder sparked the faction leaders to declare a cease fire and begin negotiations. A conglomerate of countries in Western Europe agreed to pool their resources to create a new entity – one stronger than the sum of its parts. The Corps was created as a protecting body – a military arm made up of both magical and non-magical beings alike._

_The WEA is governed by a parliamentary body that creates the laws, a policing arm of Detectives and Aurors who ensure the laws are obeyed, and a judiciary to rule when a guilty party is found. The WEA has been successful in its embrace of magic and non-magic alike and willingness to put aside factional differences._

Draco considered this more or less aligned with Hermione’s brief explanation, and flipped through, finding more information on the _Event_.

> _In 1989, a catastrophic magical wave completely obliterated all human life in a two kilometer radius. The act, whose magical residue still remains, was so powerful as to ensure all of humanity had to take notice._

Draco recalled the _Event_ only vaguely. He remembered being upset at having to leave home – but otherwise wasn’t too bothered.

> _The existence of magic created religious upheaval across the non-magical world. Fundamentalists of many faiths joined forces – questioning magic, attempting to identify the presence or existence of a deity. But the faction who caused the most harm were the Apachs – a group of religious extremists who believed the magical shock was the apocalypse and sought a reckoning on the earth, deeming those who did not agree with them unclean._
> 
> _The Apachs were responsible for most of the nuclear damage in Western Europe – ironically using black market magical items to enhance the potency of their weapons. Since the creation of the WEA, the Apachs have nearly all been apprehended and the faction is no longer active._

Hermione re-entered the room holding a tray of sandwiches and fruit. She placed it on the coffee table and waited for Draco to look at her before speaking. “Enjoying it?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Draco shrugged, “It’s fine.” 

She shook her head, as if amused by the whole thing and grabbed a sandwich herself. She was about to return to her lab when Draco spoke.

“You know – the Dark Lord foresaw this,” he told her simply – pointing to the passage on the Apachs.

She pointedly did not roll her eyes, determined not to alienate her specim– guest. “Yes, I read the manifesto. But I thought he predicted an all out war between magicals and non-magicals?” she pointed out.

Draco shook his head. “That’s not what he wrote! See here,” Draco reached for the manifesto and began turning until he found the page, “ _I always feared we were reaching a tipping point – a moment in time where there would be no choice but to reveal the magical to the Muggle. But the magical world writ large did not take my warning seriously, and did not truly understand the Muggle threat._

_“And what of our future? We stagnate, society becoming further diluted. Only my people – the Death Eaters – remain connected to the roots of all magic. Where the rest of magical society withers away.”_ He stopped reading and looked at her expectantly.

“Draco – I still don’t think you understand,” she paused for a moment, “the – tragedies – following the event weren’t the result of _wizards_ , or some inherent fear. It was more of a metaphysical crisis caused by the knowledge that magic is real.”

She paused to look at him, his face torn between confusion and disbelief. “Magic defies many basic laws of science – it required us to re-evaluate everything we knew. But more to the point, religions have typically depicted magic as the tool of the _devil_. So what does that mean, when we finally learn that magic exists, and it’s all around us? 

“The fundamentalists assumed we had been forsaken – that God had left long ago. The Apachs took this a step further and assumed it meant God had deemed us a failure and moved on. They sought the destruction of everything as a means to enter Heaven. Warlords and dictators filled the power vacuums. But one thing all of these people had in common?

“None of them declared ‘war’ on wizards. None of them sought the destruction of wizard-kind or _your way of life_. Even the _Event_ – no one really blamed magicals since more of your kind died than mine anyways. It was perceived as some sort of magical fluke of the earth rather than the result of malicious intent. 

“So while your _‘Dark Lord’_ may have accurately assumed there would be trouble when magic revealed itself to the world, I think his “us versus them” analysis of the situation shows his own naivety on the matter. No offense of course,” Hermione finished.

Draco was speechless. He looked at Hermione – really looked at the woman who had done nothing but perplex him for the past 24 hours. Beyond her cool and calculated demeanor, she was surprisingly soft – particularly compared to the few women he had grown up with, who were blessed with the identifying features of their parents’ houses. Hermione had soft brown eyes that lit up the moment she was challenged – or the moment two conflicting beliefs made themselves present. Her hair seemed to have a life of its own. Even wrestled with a rubber band, strands sought to escape to cover the distinct scar that sat in front of her right ear.

He also realized she was _strong_ . Beyond the simple feat of bringing him here from wherever he was passed out in the woods, her tight clothes showed toned muscle. He had felt vulnerable from the moment he realized he did not have his wand and that _something_ had happened to his magic. But it was only now that he realized – he was no match for this small woman – and what did that mean?

She took his silence to mean he was done with the conversation and left, back to that infernal room she locked herself away in with his _wand_. Of all the situations he imagined himself in – all of the scenarios he worked through, he had never anticipated something like this – someone like her.

He thought back to her question – _‘Am I a dog to you? Or have I been bewitched?’_ and tried to answer it. She certainly was not a dog – he could not help but admit she had a _brain_. But was it truly hers? Was she perhaps the output of an experiment, being out here alone in the middle of a wasteland?

He wasn’t sure how that could be possible though. He understood the mechanics of the _Imperius_ curse and other methods of control but could not think of anything that would quite explain _her._ Everything about her was contradictory to everything he thought he knew.

He found himself oddly empathetic to the Muggles – was this how they felt after the _Event_? He tried to reconcile the conflicting facts, his mind returning to that tiny dot on an otherwise massive map. A headache began to form and he once again lay down, massaging his temples.

He unintentionally fell asleep and had an incredibly vivid dream – his father and the Dark Lord were speaking, discussing minutiae. He woke up from the nap, momentarily comforted before remembering his surroundings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs.


	4. Chapter 4

_London_   
_October 9, 2006_

Harry’s entire body ached, and he groaned as he blinked his eyes open. The harsh fluorescent lights and soft beeping were soon replaced by a stern face and jumbled words that took a moment to translate in his addled mind. “Mr. Potter – are you awake?”

He mumbled incoherently and attempted to nod his head as consciousness returned to him. He blinked once more and saw his glasses being handed to him. He accepted them with a mumbled thanks, put them on, and made an effort to sit up.

He now recognized Daphne to his right, sitting on a chair next to his bed and holding his hand, her face a cross between fear and relief. Behind Daphne, his father sat against the wall, looking alert with his ubiquitous blue notebook, his eyes purposefully focused just to the right of Harry _._

“Mr. Potter – can you please look into the light?” The woman to his left was speaking again. He obediently turned his head to face her and followed her commands. He assumed, based on her attire, she was a nurse.

“What happened? Where am I?” Harry asked the room, beginning to get his bearings.

“Harry,” Daphne squeezed his hand, “someone planted a bomb in your office. You managed to shield yourself to avoid the brunt of the blast but you were still knocked around a bit.”

“You’re in London Central,” the nurse confirmed. Harry nodded in acceptance, now recognizing the logo on her apron. “You’ve been unconscious overnight – with a severe concussion, along with superficial abrasions and a dislocated shoulder,” the nurse listed methodically, while scanning Harry with a wand.

He nodded and turned to the door to see two men enter – one of whom he vaguely recognized. “Robards?” he heard his father remark. _Ah,_ Harry thought – _Auror._

“Potter,” the man, Robards, nodded back before turning towards the magical nurse, “can we speak to him?”

“I’ve just finished my assessment – he’s healing nicely. You may speak to him now.” She nodded before abruptly departing. Harry had the opportunity to take in the two newcomers in his hospital room. The first, Robards, appeared maybe ten years his father’s senior. The man, whom Harry was sure would tower over him if he was standing, had the haunting eyes and visible scars he expected of an Auror. He did not wear a robe, a somewhat progressive statement for one of his generation. He instead boasted a non-magical suit – only the Auror pin on his left breast, the wand crossed with a gavel, gave away his position.

The other man stood nearly a foot shorter. He had a disarming smile and looked younger than Harry, with clean cut dirty blonde hair and a pin striped suit. Harry surmised he must be a non-magical – most likely a detective.

“What can I do for you?” Harry asked, clearing his throat and adopting his politician persona.

“Representative Potter,” Robards started, “I’m not sure if you remember me, we met when you were very young. I used to work with your father.” Harry nodded in acknowledgement, urging him to continue, “My name is Gawain Robards. This,” he pointed to the man to his right, “is Lester Fox. We have been assigned to investigate the bombing of your office.”

The other man – Fox – spoke, “We’ve completed a preliminary investigation and have found evidence that the device is non-magical in origin and appears to be home made.” He paused, briefly looking at Robards before turning back to Harry. “We are currently working to identify the different parts used to build the bomb, hoping it will lead us to the bomb maker.”

“Do you have any idea who would have done this?” Daphne asked, her frown and tone betraying her worry.

Robards shook his head, “Not at this time – we were hoping you could help us with that. Have there been any threats on your life? Perhaps… do you have any enemies we should know about?”

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. “The election was very contentious – but I can’t imagine even the isolationist faction would go to such lengths.” He blinked and turned towards his father, whose attention was still on Robards.

“Do you all think it was magicals or non-magicals?” James Potter asked.

Robards and Fox looked at one another briefly before Fox responded, “We have not reached any conclusions yet but, given the nature of the attack, it seems rather unlikely it was a wizard.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Daphne started, “Harry is a fervent supporter of peace between the magicals and non-magicals! Why would someone do this?”

“Daphne.” Harry turned to her, “you know it’s not that simple.”

“But it’s not right.” Daphne frowned, clearly stressed. Harry gently rubbed circles into her palm and felt her relax.

Robards cleared his throat. “Well thank you for your time – we’ll leave you be for now. In the meantime,” Robards paused and beckoned someone to enter, “a Corps officer has been assigned for your protection. This is Ginevra Weasley.”

The officer walked in, head to toe in formal Corps garb – a dark green suit with the appropriate pins confirming she was an Officer and a witch. Harry was surprised at how young she looked – her pale face covered in freckles and her eyes a soft hazel. Her hair, a deep red, was pulled out of her face and sat under the beret required of an Officer. She quickly saluted.

“It’s nice to meet you Ginevra,” Harry stated, a little uncomfortable with the formality. “At ease?”

She smiled and relaxed just slightly before responding, “You as well, and please, call me Ginny.”

“Ginny.” He nodded in confirmation. “I don’t mean to be rude but aren’t you a little young for this assignment?” He felt Daphne give him a chastising smack in his arm and heard the non-magical, Fox, chuckle under his breath.

Robards chose to respond, “While ordinarily your assessment would be correct, given your own youth, we felt it more appropriate to assign someone your age to accompany you. So she would be capable of ‘blending in’ if need be.” Harry gave Ginny another once over, dubious of the witch’s ability to blend in, but nodded in acceptance.

The Auror and detective headed out, leaving only the four magicals in the room. Ginny stood awkwardly, obviously attempting not to fidget much, to the amusement of Harry. “You can sit if you like.” Harry gestured towards one of the chairs scattered throughout the oversized hospital room.

“I’m not sure if I should.” She frowned.

“Is this your first assignment?” Daphne asked, smiling at the younger woman.

“Well – I was stationed at Cambridge for a while – but yes, this is my first assignment.” Ginny confirmed, her cheeks reddening.

“I’m sure you’ll do great.” Daphne tried to reassure her.

“Thank you.” Ginny went ahead and took a seat, fidgeting for a moment before sitting still. James Potter looked up from his notebook and frowned at the Officer.

“Are you a Weasley?” he asked, head cocked.

Harry and Daphne recognized the curiosity in his voice and immediately turned to watch the conversation play out. “Yes. What of it?” she asked as if she got the question a lot.

James’ face softened so slightly that only Harry noticed, “I knew your parents – good people. I was very sorry to hear they didn’t make it.”

Ginny swallowed and nodded, “Thank you.”

“Weasley?” Daphne mumbled, as if trying to remember a long forgotten memory. “Any relation to Percy Weasley?”

Ginny’s mood quickly turned and she rolled her eyes. “Yes - technically speaking – he’s my older brother. One of 6.”

“Percy?” Harry gave a small laugh but was elbowed lightly by Daphne in the ribs. “I’m injured, witch!” he joked, continuing to chuckle.

Daphne attempted to explain, “We deal with him a lot in parliament – he can be a bit...” she paused trying to find the word, but Ginny interrupted her.

“Obtuse?” she suggested, eyebrows raised.

Harry broke down into laughter and even Daphne snorted.

“Thanks,” Harry smiled widely, “I needed that.” He finished laughing and wiped tears from his eyes. Ginny gave a shy smile and sat up straight, as if suddenly remembering her place. “Any idea how long I’m stuck here?” he asked Daphne.

“They said yesterday you would have to stay at least 24 hours due to the concussion,” she informed him, raising her hand as he opened his mouth to complain. “You just survived a bombing attempt! You will stay in that bed and follow orders.”

“Aye aye, captain.” He rolled his eyes but nonetheless complied, lying back down and trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was only just beginning.

* * *

Robards and Fox took a taxi to Central Justice a couple kilometers south of the hospital. Robards looked over his notes, unsurprised the trip to the hospital did not yield any new leads, “What did you think of Greengrass?” Robards asked suddenly.

“Her worry seemed real,” Fox stated after mulling it over a moment. “Unless she’s the world’s greatest actress, I struggle to imagine she had any part in it.”

Robarts ‘hmmd’ in agreement, swiping Daphne’s name on the charmed paper and moving it to the bottom of the list. “I think we should still look into her though,” Fox continued. “She’s right – Potter doesn’t seem a likely target of non-magicals. Maybe she was the target.”

“Why?” Robards asked. He and Fox had been partners for two years. At first, Robards had dismissed the non-magical detective as young and inexperienced. But Fox proved his value – unlike Aurors, their non-magical counterparts were expected to be more brains than brawns. While Robards excelled at hunting down the culprit once identified, or getting them out of a jam, he’d come to rely on Fox for his insights and investigative skill. Robards found with the magical and non-magical so mixed together, things weren’t nearly as straightforward as they once were.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. It’s a long shot - I just have a gut feeling that she is involved in some way.” And that was another thing Robards learned not to dismiss – his partner’s _gut_. 

The pair entered the old building – a solid stone structure that managed to survive the two years between the _Event_ and the formation of the WEA. Robards didn’t know what kind of ‘museum’ it had been prior to being repurposed as Central Justice, but he still appreciated the building’s inherent feeling of history.

Robards was a Senior Auror and idolized to by many of the younger magicals in the department. It was why he had stopped wearing a robe – he wanted to set an example, that he had moved on while so many of his colleagues continued to long for the ‘good ol’ days’ and compared their lot in life to that of their youth. As he and Fox worked their way through the facility, they fielded a few questions, magicals and non-magicals alike curious about the one and only Harry Potter.

Robards and Fox reached their office, a small space with two desks and a large white board against a wall. Robards immediately started making notations on the board while Fox left to check if forensics had any information yet on the bomb. It had been made _very_ clear to them by their superiors that this case would take priority over _all else_. 

“We got the preliminary analysis back on the bomb,” Fox announced after shutting the door. “The initial assumption was correct – no indication of any magical residue. It looks to have been crudely put together. It appears that barium nitrate was the active ingredient,” Fox finished, taking off his glasses and looking at the white board.

“Barium nitrate? I don’t recall ever coming across it,” Robards commented while fumbling through some other papers on his desk.

Fox looked thoughtful before snapping his fingers and switching on his computer. After a moment, he was connected to the department’s internal network and purposefully searching for something. “I knew I recognized it!” he started, beckoning Robards over. “It was used in a French terrorist attack.”

“The French?” Robards asked now, taken aback. _What would they care about Potter?_

“It’s a French radical fundamentalist group. Their leader – Michel Pierre – was a scientist before the _Event,_ interestingly enough. My guess is he took particular issue with the fact that magic made all of his assumptions moot,” Fox hypothesized with a shrug. “We don’t know the group’s name – but historically they’ve kept to France – typically conducting terrorist attacks against non-magical leaders they deem ‘too cozy with magic’.” 

Robards rolled his eyes – he never understood the fundamentalists or their goals for that matter. “Any ideas, based on their history, why this group would be targeting Harry Potter?”

Fox shrugged, “Most people view Harry Potter as a savior of sorts. The fundamentalists have always been hostile towards him – the WEA weakened their position, and Potter’s role in the formation of the WEA is legendary. But to go after Harry Potter? They _must_ know how seriously this would be taken.” He shook his head. 

“Okay – let’s take a step back,” Robards suggested. “Instead of focusing on the bomb and possible suspects, let’s focus on Potter – what do we know?”

Fox nodded his head. “Harry Potter, aged 26, wizard.” He started by running through the basics, “Elected the English Magical at-large representative to WEA parliament at the age of 24 – the youngest WEA representative ever.

“Born in Godric’s Hollow in 1980 to James and Lily Potter. Mother died when he was 10. Attended a mixed magical/non-magical secondary school before beginning a career in public service. Spotless record as far as I can tell.” Fox paused. “His known enemies are political in nature – the isolationists, as well Elijah Parkinson’s separatist faction.”

Robards added _‘Elijah Parkinson’_ to their board. “OK – but what else?”

“He publicly announced his engagement to Daphne Greengrass two years ago.” Fox was now reading through various papers and other documentation that had been gathered that morning. “The pair met at school – the only magicals in their class – and have been inseparable since. Greengrass appears to be his most trusted political advisor,” he finished.

“What about the Greengrasses in general?” Robards asked with a small frown.

“Anton Greengrass, CEO of Magitech, is publicly a big supporter of Potter. His wife, Denise, was killed in a magical explosion caused by a group of isolationists just after the formation of the WEA.” Fox stated, “He also has a second daughter, Astoria, whom he sent to a magical school.”

“Why would he send his children to different schools?” Robards wondered aloud.

Fox shrugged, “Honestly, it’s not that uncommon in the non-magical world. Parents will send their kids to different schools depending on their skill set or interests. It’s possible Daphne wanted to go to a school with non-magicals but Astoria didn’t.”

“OK so the Greengrasses are closely tied to Potter – both personally and politically,” Robards concluded succinctly. “What other known allies?”

Fox nodded. “The Longbottoms have publicly always been very close to the Potters.”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been making a point to say ‘publicly’ quite a bit – is there something I’m missing?” Robards interrupted.

Fox tilted his head to the side. “Harry Potter has lived in the spotlight since he was ten years old. I can only imagine people have been working to get in his good graces since then. The only information we have is public data – newspaper clippings and gossip. Frank Longbottom and James Potter have been seen laughing at dinner – but what happens when the cameras turn away?” He paused. “I’m not trying to say there’s necessarily something nefarious happening with Harry Potter himself – only that in this case, I think we need to take our data with a grain of salt.”

Robards nodded thoughtfully, looking at the board. “The Longbottoms had a son Harry’s age – didn’t they?” he asked.

Fox nodded, “Yes – Neville Longbottom – killed tragically sometime after the _Event_. No one is really sure what happened. There are no good records from that time,” he confirmed.

“Did we get Potter’s voting records yet?” Robards asked. Fox went and checked their inbox, grabbing a large manila envelope.

“Well – it looks like we got _every single_ voting record we could ever want.” He rolled his eyes and started skimming through the materials. “It will take me a while to really get through these – but I can tell you based on news clippings, he’s a staunch supporter of the Corps and has been notoriously pro-cooperation with non-magicals,” Fox detailed.

“He was speaking on a bill yesterday, right?” Robards asked, trying to recall what it was about.

“Yes,” Fox confirmed, grabbing a paper from another pile, “it was a bill to provide an additional WEA100 million in funding to the Corps to expand their research facilities to address the declining birth rate. Huh,” he paused, pulling the paper closer to his face, “he said during his speech that the birth rate has declined to zero.”

“What?” Robards startled, moving over to where Fox was standing and looking over his shoulder in confirmation. “Why wasn’t this news?”

Fox shrugged, “Because minutes later someone tried to kill him?”

Robards could feel the start of a headache coming on and popped a few aspirin, which he considered one of the great non-magical inventions. “OK. I’ll reach out to Paris and see about apprehending Pierre. Meanwhile, why don’t you keep digging?” Fox nodded and Robards headed out, hands massaging his temples and, not for the first time, wishing some other unlucky bastard had been assigned this case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

_50 kilometers west of Aberdeen - Uninhabitable zone_   
_October 11, 2006_

Two days passed and Draco only saw flashes of his host. She ensured he remained fed, instructed him on how to use a shower, and provided some additional, if still unacceptable, clothing but otherwise remained in her infernal lab or was out in the wilderness. He couldn’t decide how he felt about this. A part of him was relieved; whenever they spoke, she seemed determined to upend his entire world view. Though he had come to realize this assessment wasn’t quite fair – she wasn’t malicious and did not seem particularly concerned with whether he even _believed_ her. She was simply being _direct_.

Around sundown she came out of the kitchen, holding two plates with steam coming off of them. He sniffed and shrugged, not quite recognizing the smell. “It’s Salisbury steak, steamed carrots, and mashed potatoes,” she explained. “You’ll have to start getting used to TV meals – the majority of my food is frozen and we went through the perishables rather quickly.”

“TV meal?” His mind ran through the _Non-Magicals for Dummies_ book before he frowned, the phrase still meaningless. 

“Basically, they make meals that are then frozen. All you have to do is microwave it. We call them TV meals because the idea is to throw it in the microwave for a few minutes then you can eat it in front of the TV,” she explained.

She sat on the other side of the coffee table and began eating her food as he looked at her expectantly – two days of _nothing_ and then suddenly here she was. “What?” she asked.

“Where have you been?” he blurted out.

“Oh,” she said softly. She took another bite, chewing slowly before pausing to answer. “I’m currently working on a number of rather,” she paused again, “ _volatile_ experiments. They required my utmost attention over the last 48 hours.”

“Oh.” He exhaled, “I thought I had – said something or done something offensive.”

She chuckled. “My apologies, I live alone. I’m not _used_ to talking to other people, let alone living with someone else. I didn’t even think to say anything…” She shook her head, appearing embarrassed.

It was _so_ normal, Draco thought – _embarrassment._ He studied the woman in front of him. She was this imperturbable figure but when it came to social interactions, suddenly she was flustered, unsure what to do. “It’s fine,” he replied. She appeared to have recovered, back to focusing on her food.

“Have you been alright?” she asked.

He considered this. He had started to look through Hermione’s books – there were a few Muggle ones he was able to understand. It quelled his boredom, but restlessness was still kicking in. The large windows helped – but the air felt irrationally stale and the urge to _leave_ was beginning to settle in.

“OK,” he responded with a shrug.

“Cabin fever?” she asked with a knowing glint in her eye.

He wasn’t exactly familiar with the phrase but contextually suspected what she was referring to. “If you mean I would give anything to go outside – yes. But,” he paused, recollecting her coming and going that afternoon in thick plastic covering her entire body, “I believe you’re telling the truth about the air outside being poison.”

She smiled and nodded and he felt like he passed some odd test. “Would you be up for watching a movie?” she asked, eyes alight. He frowned, furrowing his eyebrows, and she clarified further. “It’s something we watch on the TV – like a fictional play,” she tried to explain. “I don’t know how to describe it! Are you willing to watch it anyway?”

_What the hell,_ he thought and nodded, feeling a warmth in his stomach when she practically beamed at him. She moved towards the TV and dug through a cabinet he didn’t realize was beneath it. She pulled a black rectangle out and put it into something else. A flick with the remote and suddenly the plastic box, _TV_ he reminded himself, lit up. She came over and gave him a look, her hands waving towards the side of the couch. He moved over, practically hugging the right side of the two person loveseat.

“This,” she explained, “is Star Wars.”

The movie started and at first, Draco was confused. He kept asking Hermione questions: _Why are they in space? What’s a spaceship? Have Muggles gone to space?_ But other than confirming that this was entirely fictional and had no basis in reality, she shushed him and told him to just _watch the movie!_

When it was over, he was surprised and a little embarrassed to find he had enjoyed himself. “Did the person who made this movie know about magic?” he asked. 

Hermione shrugged, “I assume not – but I have no actual knowledge on the matter. He was an American – and as far as I’m aware, we haven't heard from _anyone_ in America since the founding of the WEA.” 

“The force – it reminds me of magic,” he said thoughtfully.

“Really?” she asked, and he could practically see the moment she went from ‘relaxed’ to ‘inquisitive.’

“I mean – Jedi are simply people with the ability to wield the force. Not unlike wizards, who are able to wield _magic_.” He shrugged, believing the connection to be obvious.

“I never thought about it like that,” she said, humming softly. “If you like this movie, there are two more like it.”

“Really?” he asked, thoughtful, “How many movies are there?”

“Oh,” her eyes were wide now, “hundreds, probably thousands worldwide. I’m not sure if any movies have been made since the _Event,_ but the film industry was quite active beforehand.”

“This is what muggles do? Eat TV dinner and watch movies?” He said it critically but admitted in his head it was rather enjoyable. Life as a Death Eater was all about purpose – they typically weren’t permitted the opportunity to take part in activities exclusively for entertainment.

“Well – not so much anymore,” she said sadly. “A lot of people don’t have access to regular power. I’m lucky – I have solar panels as well as a generator.”

“Aren’t you – lonely here?” he asked. In the two days he was left alone he was desperate for interaction. It had been bugging him since he first arrived – he didn’t understand Muggles, but everything he knew had led him to believe they were social creatures.

She shrugged, “Not really.” 

“Really?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. “I’ve only been away from home for – five days maybe? But I desperately miss my friends.” 

“So why did you leave?” She looked notably uncomfortable and attempted to change the subject.

“I had my reasons.” He turned to her, now more curious than he was before. “So, you just – live out here alone? No friends, family?” She was still now, and he knew he must have struck a nerve. It was oddly satisfying to know she wasn’t unflappable, so he kept going, “That’s hard to believe. I mean – you seem a _bit_ grating, but I’m sure there’s someone out there.”

“I don’t really have friends, alright?” she said abruptly before shaking herself. “I’ve always been – well, better with books and learning than with people. Friends would come and go I guess.”

“So – there’s no one you miss?” he asked, admittedly sad for her.

“Well – I miss my wizard mentor,” she said and immediately winced.

“Wizard mentor?” He looked at her with interest.

“Yes – the Corps is a force made up of the magical and non-magical. As a non-magical, to become an Officer you have to spend a rotation with a witch or wizard. And vice versa.” Hermione gave a textbook explanation.

“And you were close with yours?” he asked curiously, head tilted towards her.

She shrugged. “He was – kind. And he thought my love of books was brilliant, and while he didn’t necessarily have a scientific mind so to speak, it was always enjoyable discussing such matters with him nonetheless.” She paused, debating whether to continue. But Draco’s eyes didn’t look particularly judgmental, and she had to admit it was a bit cathartic to have someone to talk to. “He didn’t care that I was ‘grating’ as you call it or that I was socially awkward and rarely said the right thing.”

“What about family?” he asked, his eyes naturally moving towards the single small photo that hung on the wall.

She followed his gaze and, surprising him, got up and grabbed the photo, holding it close and rubbing her thumb against the images delicately. “My – parents – died. And I don’t have any other family.” She showed him the image, and he realized that the little girl was _her_ along with her parents.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his soft tone surprising him a little. “I, uh, my mother died in childbirth with me. So, I don’t exactly know how you feel but I guess I understand a little.” He looked away from her and unconsciously rubbed at his right shoulder. 

She nodded, slightly taken aback by the admission. “My parents died in a car accident. It was – right around the _Event,_ ” she explained. “I didn’t get the opportunity to bury them or really mourn. One day the world was normal and suddenly, I had no parents and it was chaos.”

“What did you do?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I was taken in by some family friends in Cambridge. They let me stay with them until I was 18 and joined the Corps.”

“Do you miss them? Your family friends?” 

She thought about it for a moment, almost as if she had never really considered it, “They were decent – I guess. To me at least,” she started. “But they weren’t _my_ people. I had a roof over my head and food in my stomach which in that time was a blessing. 

“But,” she paused now looking down at her picture.“I don’t really remember my parents much - glimpses of moments, emotions really. But I recall a feeling of love. And the people who took me in – it was out of obligation. Which they made clear.” She shrugged.

He wanted to not care but, looking down at her picture, he found himself even more curious. “How old were you when they died?”

“I was ten.” She looked surprised by the question and watched his face wrinkle slightly in confusion. “What is it?”

“Isn’t that odd? That you don’t remember them?” he asked.

“I was in the car accident that killed my parents; the doctors believed the trauma of the incident resulted in my poor ability to retain memories from before the accident,” she explained clinically, as though she were not speaking her own mind.

As expected when she spouted science, he didn’t understand her and found himself nodding dumbly. He wondered what that was like, being in a car accident, but had the wherewithal not to ask.

They were silent for a few minutes before she questioned, “Do you have family you miss?”

He thought about his father for a moment and shook his head. “My father is still around,” he confirmed. “But – I don’t exactly _miss_ him.”

“How come?”

“My father,” he paused, “is not the warmest man. He cares for me, I’m sure, but he raised me to be a soldier.”

“Why?” she asked. “What are you fighting?”

“We always have to be prepared to defend ourselves,” he explained. Hermione noted that he continued to speak of his association with the Death Eaters in the present tense.

“Against _whom_?” Her brows were furrowed and she appeared incredulous.

“Before the _Event_ the wizarding world was at war,” he explained. She nodded, already aware of this, and he continued, “That kind of war doesn’t just – end. We’re in a cease fire of sorts at the moment.”

“You really think that the rest of the magicals are going to come after you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “When we claimed Hogwarts, a lot of witches and wizards were not happy. We believe, once the world settles down, they’ll come for it.”

“It’s just a school,” Hermione mumbled, confused.

Draco smirked, “Hogwarts has always been more than a school – in a lot of ways, it’s the epicenter for British magic. It’s the reason we were willing to lay down arms in the first place. Because for us, claiming Hogwarts was a victory.”

Hermione nodded, though she still didn’t quite understand. “If there is one thing this world has taught me, it’s that places, even people, are impermanent.”

“I’m not sure everyone is quite as enlightened as you,” he drawled. 

“So – that’s what the Death Eaters are up to? Hanging around an old castle preparing for war?” she asked.

“I mean, that’s incredibly over simplified. And we have no intention to go to war – we are simply ensuring we’re able to defend ourselves,” he corrected her, though from the look on her face he didn’t think she quite appreciated the nuance. “Why? What did you think we did?”

“Oh,” she paused, considering. “I mean, I guess I never really thought of you all _doing_ anything so to speak. I just assumed Voldemort took all the girls as wives in the name of “pureblood” continuity and the rest of you were eunuchs.”

He coughed, “What?”

“In my limited research into cults, that’s typically the modus operandi.” She shrugged.

“What’s a cult?”

“A cult is usually a religious faction that’s so extreme as to not be accepted by the mainstream. I guess the Death Eaters aren’t a cult, in that there’s no religious element to it. But if you substitute “political” for “religious” you get the right result.” As typical, her clinical explanation left him speechless.

“And what’s a eunuch?” Draco asked, legitimately curious.

She laughed slightly. “It’s uh...” she paused, her finger covering her mouth as she tried to find a delicate way to explain, “it’s a man whose _manhood_ has been removed.”

His eyes bulged, “I’m sorry – are you saying their…is just…cut off?” He cringed.

Hermione nodded. “It was a somewhat common practice among older civilizations’ kings and emperors to ensure the – focus – of one’s soldiers and the faithfulness of their most trusted advisors. I was saying it to be facetious, but in many cults throughout history the cult leader would require all other men to remain celibate,” she explained.

“Well there are no such – requirements of us,” he said, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

“Glad to hear it?” she responded lightly.

“So - is this how people see us, then?” he asked, incredulous.

“Well – yeah. I mean, to be honest, I don’t think most people even think of you all.” She shrugged.

“But you do?” he ventured.

“I find magical society to be utterly fascinating,” she explained.

“Why?” 

“I’m a scientist,” she stated, as if this was a sufficient explanation. He looked at her expectantly and she continued, “I work within a series of well documented parameters – rules if you will. The laws of physics, for example, tell us how to expect objects and matter to behave.

“When we learned about magic, we learned that many of our fundamental assumptions about the universe were _wrong_. This is why the religious fundamentalists were so outraged.”

He interrupted, “So were _you_ angry?”

“Well – I wasn’t a scientist at the time,” she reminded him, “but I like to think I would have been intrigued. I prefer to solve the puzzle rather than have the answers handed to me. The existence of magic just makes my job that much more interesting. What is magic exactly? Is it like the force? Some unseen thing? Can it be calculated? How do wands manipulate it?”

“You think magic can be explained through science?” he asked skeptically.

“Clarke’s Third Law – any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,” she parroted automatically.

Draco didn’t know who this Clarke was, but he found the phrase didn’t make sense, “But magic _isn’t_ technology. It _isn’t_ something your science can explain.”

“I know that,” she said calmly. “The point of Clarke’s Third Law is more to remind us that just because we don’t _understand_ the science or reasoning behind something doesn’t mean that _there isn’t science or reasoning!”_

He paused, frowning. “So you think you can uncover – what makes magic work?” 

“Well – I doubt _I_ can uncover that. All I’m saying is that magic is intriguing,” she finished.

He paused, looking at her. “You’re very unnerving,” he told her.

“You’re not the first to tell me that,” she admitted. A moment of silence spread between them before Hermione turned back to Draco. “It’s getting late. I should warn you – you’ll likely not see much of me over the next few days.”

“However will I survive?” he mumbled sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes. “Please feel free to watch TV or read whatever.” And like that, she was gone, once again leaving Draco behind with a headache and a growing feeling of uncertainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

_London_   
_October 12, 2006_

“Do we have to go?” Harry whined as he dug through his closet, knowing he had a ‘nice’ pair of jeans somewhere.

“I put him off for as long as I could, but you know my father.” Daphne shrugged as she slipped on a simple black dress.

“’Put him off’ Daph? I’ve been out of the hospital for 48 hours. There’s no way a dinner with our fathers is good for my health,” Harry pointed out, “what are the chances we get through this dinner without getting chastised for not setting a wedding date?”

“Very low. But you know my father wanted us there _two days ago_ and last I checked, you insisted you were perfectly healthy,” she said with some finality.

He grumbled something incoherent and eventually came out, looking rather disheveled. 

“I swear Harry – your hair...” Daphne shook her head and started attempting to tame the mess with her fingers.

He simply rolled his eyes and grabbed her wrists. “You know that won’t do anything.”

“I have to try.” Daphne smiled and they shared a look before he dropped her wrists and started tucking in his shirt.

Usually, their apartment was the one place where they could be ‘themselves’ so to speak – but the presence of the Corps officer meant that they were constantly ‘on.’ It wasn’t that they didn’t like each other - they just didn’t typically show any kind of romantic interest in one another within the four walls of their apartment. The situation was putting both Harry and Daphne on edge, and they were both looking forward to the investigation wrapping up and the culprits being identified so their lives could go back to _normal._

They entered the living room and Ginny immediately stood up. “At ease,” Harry said, amused, and the officer did just that.

“You know you can relax here Ginny,” Daphne said kindly.

“I know,” Ginny replied with a tentative smile, leading them out the door. She made some communique into her walkie talkie before she let Harry out and led them directly into the military tank waiting outside.

“At least we get to ride in style,” Harry said under his breath as the driver, a nondescript man in sunglasses and dressed in all black, opened his door for him. “So, Ginny,” Harry began from the backseat. She was looking down at her phone but immediately turned to acknowledge her charge. “Doesn’t driving around in this thing kind of make me a target?”

Ginny looked thoughtful. “You’re always a target. We know this vehicle is clean and it can withstand a rocket launcher so – while perhaps we stick out, at least we know you’re safe.”

“You don’t have to answer him when he acts like a child,” Daphne told her before smirking at Harry, who appropriately responded by sticking his tongue out. Ginny laughed before returning to face the front, focused once more on her phone.

The drive to the Greengrass Estate should have been 20 minutes but the tank was unable to drive on many of the smaller roads, meaning the time was doubled. The ride was mostly filled with awkward silence and the occasional quip from Harry and ritual chastisement by Daphne. 

Daphne’s father, Anton Greengrass, was a titan of industry – after the _Event_ , he seamlessly adapted his supply chain to evolve with the times. He also happened to be of the generation that still valued the ‘traditions’ of old wizarding society.

The Greengrass Estate stood just a few miles outside of the London city limits. A long and winding private driveway led up to an almost comically massive house. As the car stopped at the front door, Ginny took a moment to calm herself, staring up at the mansion. It was indescribable to someone like her, who grew up in a rundown hovel and now lived in the city where, frankly, there was no space for a home like this. 

The front of the house was marked by six massive columns with two guards standing at the front door, hands behind their backs. They gave Ginny a nod in recognition and she returned it with a respectful half salute. One of the guards came up to give parking instructions to the driver before opening the door to let Harry and Daphne out.

“I’m sure it won’t be _that_ bad,” Daphne assured him; she received a slight eye roll in return. The pair walked towards the door, which opened to reveal a woman, slightly younger than Daphne.

“Daphne! Harry!” she exclaimed and kissed Daphne on each cheek before hugging Harry.

“Astoria! I didn’t know you’d be here!” Daphne sounded genuinely surprised.

“When I heard about what happened I just had to come home,” she explained. Astoria Greengrass was technically studying to be a healer in Manchester, but those who knew her were aware she was really just waiting until her father matched her with an _appropriate_ man. Unlike her sister, Astoria Greengrass fully embraced the so-called ‘old ways,’ much to their father’s relief.

While the Greengrass sisters shared similar features, it would have been difficult to confuse them. Astoria wore a long sleeve topaz colored gown with a hat that sat just to the side of her head and jewelry that let anyone who saw her know precisely her net worth. This outfit, which would have earned her stares and teasing in downtown London, was perfectly fashionable to traditional wizards. On the flip-side, while Daphne and Harry were dressed in what they considered ‘business casual,’ which they considered appropriate for a weeknight dinner party, it would be considered ‘scandalous’ to those entrenched in the old ways.

As it was, Anton Greengrass, though nostalgic and traditional, was a survivor at heart. He wasn’t so set in the old ways as to be impractical, and he knew that asking Harry and Daphne to dress more formally was not a fight worth having.

As the pair went to meet Anton and James in the formal drawing room, Ginny did a perimeter sweep – identifying all possible exits and entrances, discussing security procedures with the guards and confirming all staff. Once she had completed her assessment and deemed Harry to be as safe as could be, she returned outside to the front porch to join the other two guards.

Harry led his fiancée in and discovered, not that they were surprised, that they were the last to arrive. James Potter sat on a couch next to the senior Greengrass, the two wrapped up in what appeared to be a perfectly polite conversation.

“Papa,” Astoria called out, receiving a genuine smile from her father who turned towards them. “Daphne and Harry have just arrived!”

Harry smiled and shook both men’s hands; he and his father appeared unsure whether they should do some sort of half hug, which led to a sort of awkward dance. Daphne, the less awkward of the pair, greeted each man with a light kiss on the cheek without any sort of melee. 

“Thank you both for coming,” Anton said with a smile. 

Harry _wanted_ to say ‘like we had a choice’ but he bit this back in favor of, “Of course, thank you for the invitation.”

“It’s just – after what happened to you, we’re reminded that family is _everything._ ” Anton gave Daphne and Harry a pointed look as he led them into the dining room. Harry did his best to nod appropriately as the older man continued, “So I wanted us all to get together – to discuss the future.”

_Here we go,_ thought Harry, though he maintained a smile as he took his seat and held Daphne’s hand over the table. The seating arrangements were adjusted to account for Astoria. Anton sat at one head while the other remained permanently empty, a constant reminder of the Greengrass matriarch’s absence. Across from Harry sat his father while the two Greengrass sisters were in the seats closest to Anton.

Before he could say anything more, the soup course was served. While Harry was more or less used to dinner at the Greengrass house at this point, he would never truly be comfortable with being served or even with the concept of a multi-course meal. In private, he would complain of his future father-in-law’s excess, imagining the use the estate could have beyond maintaining an old man’s pride. 

“So, Mr. Potter,“ Astoria started dinner conversation, turning to her neighbor, “my father tells me you have already started Harry’s re-election bid.”

James Potter was a political strategist, and as much as it pained Harry, the man was _brilliant_ at it. He had an inherent understanding of numbers and psychology that seemed to make him uniquely suited for the task. Nevertheless, he was probably better known from his days as head Auror. Following the formation of the WEA, he was single-handedly credited with reviving the wizarding vocation and engaging his non-magical counterparts to develop an integrated police force. 

“Yes,” James began, putting down his spoon. “You can never start on these too early – he‘ll be up for re-election again in 18 months,” he pointed out, looking briefly at Harry before returning to his soup.

“I’m sure wizarding England will continue to support Harry,” Astoria said with a polite smile.

“They _should_ ,” Anton said pointedly, “but we’ll want to make sure there are no more,” he paused, looking up dramatically for a moment before continuing, “issues like that recent Corps funding bill.” He smiled at Harry.

Harry took a few calming breaths before smiling back. “Of course – I thought I had the votes at hand but apparently I was wrong.”

“It wasn’t Harry’s fault in this instance,” James Potter pointed out, though not necessarily to defend his son but to set the record straight. He adjusted his glasses. “Viktor Krum made some very poignant, if misleading points.”

“I agree,” Daphne nodded, smiling, “we worked that bill through the factions – they were just _looking_ for an excuse to kill it.”

“It’s a shame.” Harry shook his head, “We needed that bill – now, we’ll have to start from scratch.”

“But perhaps Mr. Krum, while misleading, had a certain point in the matter,” Anton suggested. Before anyone could respond, the two servers had returned, replacing their empty bowls with a poultry course.

“You don’t want additional funding to go into the birth rate issue?” Harry asked, frowning at the man.

“Oh no – Harry, dear boy,” Anton placated him. “It is not that at all! It’s just – I worry about the Corps. We rely on them for everything. Why, unless I’m mistaken, there’s a Corps officer standing outside of my home providing your protection!”

“I don’t quite see the alternative,” Harry started after taking a small bite. “We included provisions that would require the Corps to work with private companies and universities, both magical and non-magical. But having a central and unified effort is critical if we have any hope to resolve this crisis,” Harry stated, his voice more passionate than he would have liked given the situation.

“Yes – I understand the bill.” Anton dabbed at his chin with his napkin, his words intentionally patronizing. “But it would still give the _Corps_ an incredible amount of power.” 

Harry shook his head and was about to debate further when Daphne beat him to the punch. “What would you do instead father?”

Anton smiled gently at his eldest. “Take more time. Perhaps create a separate WEA entity dedicated to research and development to address the birth rate matter. Or identify a magical and non-magical private corporation with the correct skills and expertise to take on this venture.”

Harry shook his head, a defeated look on his face., “We don’t have any more time.” He turned to his own father who watched the conversation with curiosity but himself seemed disinterested in the outcome. _Always a politician,_ Harry thought. James Potter didn’t care what got legislated – he cared about the political implications.

“Be careful, son,” Anton responded, “history is full of doomsday prophets claiming the world is ending.”

Harry shrugged. “The world will be just fine – it’s humanity that won’t make it,” he pointed out and returned to his chicken, a stale silence filling the large room.

No one spoke again until their plates were replaced with a seafood entrée. Harry thought with some fondness about the first time he had accompanied Daphne to dinner and had over-eaten his first course, completely unaware of what was coming next. 

“Harry, you know I’m always on your side,” Anton started, “I only say what I do to help you understand what the others are thinking.”

Harry kept his face calm and forced a smile to appear. “Thank you sir – that means a lot.” Daphne made a similar pronouncement before grabbing Harry’s hand in a supportive gesture.

“Which brings me to my next order of business,” Anton started, placing his fork delicately on the plate to indicate the course was over. Harry felt himself pale and Daphne’s grip in his hand grew tighter. “I think it’s time you set a date.” His gaze shifted back and forth between Harry to Daphne.

“Oh father,” Daphne tried to play it off, “Harry is too busy for us to think about planning a wedding! And someone just tried to kill him!”

“Which is why it’s more important now than ever for the two of you to get married,” Anton began. “We _must_ make sure that whatever – monsters – tried to kill you know that it has only made you _stronger_.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Harry stated diplomatically before turning to Daphne, his eyes pleading for help.

“I know you both are young and busy,” Anton responded amiably, “but I think it would be advantageous of you both to settle down.”

“What’s the rush?” Daphne asked, a doting smile on her face.

“There’s no ‘rush’ dear,” her father reassured her, “but at some point, people will wonder. You have been together a long time; I struggle to understand your reluctance. If it’s money, you know I’ll provide whatever you both need.”

He didn’t say it outright but Harry understood the subtext – he was dubious of their relationship. 

“Harry,” his father surprised him, “you are one of only a few unmarried representatives in parliament -” he held up his hand, halting Harry’s expected rebuttal and calmly continued. “I didn’t say it was right or that it should be the case that a representative is married. However, much of the opposing faction’s concern with you is your tendency to shift away from tradition. A simple thing – getting married – would make a lot of people feel much more comfortable.”

While Harry was able to keep his temper in check with Anton, expecting the man to pressure them at every turn, he did not expect the same from his own father. He leaned forward, vaguely aware that the servers were now placing a slice of tart in front of him, and responded, “So I should get married to make _my opponents more comfortable_? So that they can forget for a moment that the world is not what it once was?”

“Harry.” James swallowed and looked at him, keeping his own feelings in check.

“Excuse me, Mr. Greengrass, my apologies, I need a breath of fresh air,” Harry started and quickly leapt from his seat and headed out towards the back porch. He stepped out and immediately took a deep inhale, leaning against the railing. For all he judged the Greengrass Estate, the view and fresh air were remarkable.

“Harry,” he heard from behind him and shut his eyes.

“Dad,” Harry mumbled as his father came to stand at the railing beside him.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” the older man started. “I just – it’s politically the logical move.”

“Is this the only time you can talk to me?” Harry started. “When it’s to discuss what is and isn’t politically viable?”

“Of course not,” his father responded, clearly uncomfortable.

“It’s marriage.” He turned to his father. “I’ve gotten used to everything being politics with you. And usually – I appreciate it, since we both know I am _not_ politically savvy in the slightest. But,” Harry paused, breathing in the cool autumn air, “in _marriage_ ? That’s the _one place_ I assumed you would want more for me than was _politically advantageous_.”

“I don’t understand.” James turned to him, pocketing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “You and Daphne have been together for ages! I’m not trying to arrange a marriage for you.”

“You know why!” Harry was exasperated. His father knew – he was the only one, really, who was aware of the truth of his and Daphne’s faux-relationship.

“Still?” his father asked, somewhat disheartened. “I had assumed by now – perhaps -“

“What? You thought we had grown to love each other or some other nonsense?” Harry guessed.

“Yes,” his father said softly.

“Is that how it was for you and mom?” Harry asked, his eyes blinking to keep tears from forming.

“No.” 

“But you thought perhaps it would be that way for me?” Harry stated in a monotone.

“I just -” James swallowed purposefully. “She’s your best friend. I figured – there are worse things in the world than marrying your best friend!”

“I’ve done _everything_ you’ve asked! I’ve been – the _model_ of a perfect politician. I even made Daphne publicly _parade as my fiancée_ because I knew it made people more comfortable but – marriage?” Harry sighed. “Choosing who I marry – finding love if such a thing is possible in this day and age, is the one thing I want for myself. The one thing I don’t want the public to take away.”

James shook his head, “Where do you get this notion you will _find love_? That there is something more out there? Look at what you have! Why aren’t you grateful?”

“I am!” Harry shouted. “I am grateful for _everything_ I have but -” he shook his head, “where do you think I got the notion? From _you and mom!_ And you’re right – I don’t know if I will ever find someone as amazing as Daphne out there but – I think it’s worth it to wait and find out. And what about _her_ ? Should I take away her chance at something more, to make myself _more electable_?”

James’ demeanor stayed flat. “There is so much at stake in this world, Harry, and you -” he paused, face betraying his inner turmoil for a brief moment before he continued, “for better or worse, you have a power that others do not.” 

Harry looked defeated and shook his head. “Sometimes, I look at you and I don’t even recognize you.” He headed inside, leaving his father outside alone in his thoughts.

“Harry.” Daphne grabbed his arm, pulling him into a small serving kitchen off to the side. 

“Daphne – I’m sorry,” Harry started.

“No.” Daphne shook her head. “We both knew this evening would be a disaster.”

“I just want to go somewhere, get away from it all.” He cracked his neck, the tension of the evening building up in his muscles.

Daphne smiled sadly. “Astoria wants to talk about something so I was going to stay here a while longer, but you should go – maybe put on a hat and a glamour and go out or something.”

“Alone?” Harry looked at her pleading.

“Yes Harry. The good news is these days you are _never_ alone. You always have a Corps officer following you around.” She smiled at him. “You should go now – my father had some urgent business and has locked himself away in his study, and Astoria is changing into her after dinner outfit.” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Go! I’ll see you in the morning.”

* * *

Daphne’s smile dropped as Harry turned and headed out the door. She braced herself and started the trek up the stairs, making her way to her sister’s childhood bedroom.

The image Daphne was treated to could have been a painting from a bygone era. Astoria’s room was decorated in pinks with lace trimmings and paintings of luscious landscapes; a large four poster bed lay in the center, decorative pillows strewn about. Astoria herself sat at a vanity to the left, delicately brushing her hair bit by bit in what appeared to be an elegant night dress.

“Astoria,” Daphne stated as she knocked on the open door.

“Daphne!” Astoria’s eyes lit up and Daphne felt her judgment soften. For all that she may mock her sister, there was a bond between them. Astoria rushed to close the door, intriguing Daphne further.

“What is it?” Daphne asked.

“Remember the day of the, you know,” Astoria gave her a pointed look before whispering, “bombing.”

“Yes?” Daphne responded, feeling suddenly nervous.

“I called you but you had to go because – obviously.” Astoria waved her hands excessively. Daphne nodded, recalling her sister’s timely call as the only reason she was not in Harry’s office at the time.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Astoria looked worried and Daphne just wished she would _get on with it!_

“Just spit it out Tori!”

“I’m engaged!” she said quickly.

“Oh.” Daphne recoiled. “That’s not a bad thing is it?”

“Oh Daph – you don’t understand!” Astoria grabbed her sister’s hands and dramatically dragged her down to the bed, and whispered, “Father wants me to marry a Death Eater!”

Daphne paled, eyes wide, “What?”

“SHH! Quiet down!” Astoria placed her hand over Daphne’s mouth. “Father told me specifically not to tell you.”

“I don’t understand.” Daphne shook her head.

“I’m not sure how, but our father has stayed in communication with some of the Death Eaters. Apparently, if I formally request to join the Death Eaters, I can apparate there from the London apparation zone,” Astoria told her.

“It’s not the logistics I want to understand. It’s – why would he do this?” Daphne was searching her mind for a reasonable explanation. She knew her father was sympathetic to the old ways, but he was far too practical to believe in someone like _Voldemort_. That kook had divided their people! As far as Daphne was aware, giving them their land was the best decision the WEA ever made. The wizarding world was finally progressing!

“He wants our line to continue,” Astoria started to explain.

“What? And he thinks _Voldemort_ will solve the birth rate issue before _we do?_ ” Daphne drawled.

Astoria winced at the name but nodded, “Yes – they’ve convinced father that they know what the problem is and have already begun the process of fixing it.”

“Well?” Daphne asked, “Did they say what the problem was?”

“No,” Astoria confirmed, “but they assured father that it is well in hand!”

“And he BELIEVED THEM?” Daphne shouted, earning another ‘ _shhhh’_ from her sister.

“Daphne.” Astoria was quiet. 

“Tori.” Daphne smiled softly at her baby sister. “Is this what you want?”

“I want to get married,” Astoria confirmed, looking down at her hands as she nervously pulled at her fingers, “and I want to have children. But,” she paused, looking up, “I don’t want to go there – I just... What if it’s horrible? What if I’m stuck there forever? What if I never see you again?” Her eyes were watering and Daphne’s heart broke just a little bit.

“What did you tell father?” Daphne asked, though in her heart she already knew the answer.

“I told him I trusted his judgment.”

“When?” Daphne immediately followed up. “When do you leave?”

“I leave in two weeks,” Astoria confirmed. “That’s the _real_ reason I came back – why I’m here. To set my affairs in order.”

“You’re not even going to finish your studies?” Daphne asked.

Astoria shook her head. “No – apparently there’s no need for healers and, if there were, I don’t think they would trust one trained from the outside.”

“I’m so sorry, Tori.” Daphne hugged her sister.

“Well,” Astoria wiped her eyes, “I’m going to assume everything will work out. I’ll get there and my husband will be handsome and kind, and the Dark Lord will have solved our birth rate issues.” She reverted back to her ever-chipper self.

“Of course you will,” Daphne encouraged.

“Just promise me one thing?” Astoria waited until Daphne nodded before she continued, “Don’t take Harry for granted. I know you may not feel a certain way towards him-“

“No, Tor-“

“Stop! I know you,” Astoria interrupted, “but what you two have – even if it’s not romantic – is special. It’s something I’ve never had. Just don’t lose it.”

“I won’t.” Daphne whispered the promise to her sister, wondering just how everything became such a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back in London for another chapter - but after this we'll be in the Uninhabitable Zone for for two chapters.
> 
> The following songs make an appearance in this chapter (if, like me, you enjoy listening as you read): 1) I'm gonna be (500 miles) by the Proclaimers; 2) I melt with you by Modern English; 3) Every Rose Has Its Thorn by Poison and 4) Hungry Like the Wolf by Duran Duran.

_London_  
_October 12, 2006_

_“Go! I’ll see you in the morning.”_ Daphne pushed him out the door after the uncomfortable dinner with their fathers.

Harry did not need to be told twice. He gave a quick salute to Daphne and headed straight to the front door.

“Ginny.” He grabbed the officer’s attention as soon as he stepped outside. She had been in the middle of what looked like a heated debate with one of the Greengrass security guards, and she immediately came to attention. “Daphne’s staying here, let’s go.”

She nodded and spoke to the driver with her walkie talkie, jogging to keep up with Harry who was anxiously pacing the driveway. “Is everything OK?” 

“Peachy,” he bit out sharply. She put her hands up in surrender, and he immediately stopped and shut his eyes. “Sorry Ginny, it’s been – quite a night.”

Ginny nodded and didn’t pressure him further. 

“Actually,” he turned to her, contemplating, “maybe you can help? I want to go out. Ideally somewhere I can drink and no one will know who I am.”

“Yeah... I don’t think so,” Ginny laughed lightly before adding, “sir.”

He scoffed, “Why not?”

“Someone tried to kill you less than a week ago! This is the definition of unnecessary risk!” Ginny pointed out.

“Well, if you don’t help, I’ll find a way to sneak out instead.” He smiled smugly. “Or, I’ll just _choose_ to go to a known isolationist faction bar. The last I checked, you’re not in charge of me.”

“You don’t think so, Mr. Potter?” Ginny challenged, her posture hardening. Harry looked unmoved, so she continued, “ _I_ may not personally scare you, but Alastor Moody is a close family friend.” She smirked.

Harry’s jaw quite literally dropped, his mouth frozen open in a manner completely unbecoming of a representative to parliament. “You wouldn’t!” Alastor “Mad Eye” Moody was a legend. He was one of the founders of the Corps and had ensured wizardkind participated in the WEA. He was one of the Corps Major Generals now, though he tended to be rather reclusive.

“I’d rather not but I _will_ keep you alive. Whatever it takes,” Ginny assured him.

“And I _really_ do appreciate that – I assure you.” Harry smiled, but she just eyed him with suspicion. “Look Ginny,” he stared at her, his face serious, “I had a terrible night. I fought with my father. I just need to – let loose – just a little!” He pleaded.

Ginny huffed, “Would Daphne be okay with you going out by yourself? Where is she anyway?”

Harry grinned, feeling sure her resolve was fading. “She’s fine with it! It was her idea. She’s stuck dealing with some sort of drama with her sister; otherwise, she’d be here convincing you far better than me.”

The car pulled up and Ginny personally opened his door. She got in the front and gave him a hard look before having a brief conversation with the driver. The car was moving before she finally turned to Harry. “I know a place that should work,” she said.

Harry gave her another smile and was about to thank her when she held her hand up in warning. “But – you will listen to me tonight, and you will wear a glamour, and,” she huffed, “whatever you hear tonight, you will not use against me tomorrow.” She glared at him.

_Now_ he was really curious. “Where are we going?”

Thirty minutes later, they pulled up to what appeared to be a vacant storefront on a long abandoned street in downtown London. “What is this place?” Harry asked, adjusting his now large rectangular glasses. His hair was dirty blonde and he boasted a fake tan. Ginny had transfigured her typical officer uniform into civilian clothes - looking far less rigid in a pair of muggle jeans and a fitted black top.

“Get out your wand,” she instructed and he complied, following her to the door. “Follow my lead.” He copied her as she tapped a pattern onto the boarded storefront and swished her wand down. “Wait for it.” She pulled him back a half foot.

Suddenly, the storefront vanished, and Harry saw only pitch black in front of him. Seconds later, small lights appeared one at a time, revealing a long passageway. Ginny waited until the lights seemed to stop. “Come on!” She beckoned Harry forward mumbling, “They couldn’t help themselves – they love the dramatic entrance.” She rolled her eyes, and Harry continued to wonder what this place was.

Suddenly, the lights stopped and a neon sign flashed with a downward arrow. _‘Weasleys’_ it said, the sign itself blinking erratically as if it wasn’t getting sufficient power. He looked at her with surprise and she shrugged, leading him inside.

They were now in a large chasm underground. A band played live music on a stage at one end, while clubgoers packed a moderate sized dance floor. Various tables were scattered throughout – drinks were floating but a number of stationary bars sat along the edges. Harry had a huge grin, “This is amazing! I had no idea this place was here.”

“I don’t imagine you get out much.” Ginny shrugged.

“How do non-magicals get here?” Harry asked.

“There’s a separate entrance. Not nearly as fun and dramatic. My brothers would kill me if I brought you to their club and didn’t give you the full experience.” She smirked.

“Alright, here we are.” She dragged him to a bar on the far right and gave a wave to a red headed male; Harry assumed this was one of her many brothers.

“Gin!” The man grinned, reaching over the bar and giving Ginny a warm hug. Harry smiled at the simple gesture. “What are you doing here! I thought you were on assignment body guarding some hot shot politician?”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the comment, though Ginny looked mortified, “Ron!” She smacked him. “This _is_ the politician I’m keeping an eye on.” 

Ron looked somewhat contrite before shrugging and introducing himself. “Ron Weasley.” He placed his hand out after wiping it on his apron. 

Harry shook his hand. “Harry Potter.”

“Blimey Gin – you got Harry Fucking Potter to come into our shitty club?” He smirked and shook his head. Harry liked him immediately; he was effortlessly genuine and seemed naturally kind hearted.

“I would have been here sooner, but I had no idea this place existed!” Harry remarked in response, shouting over the music.

“Well, to be fair, we appeal more to the riffraff, so we gotta keep your kind out.” Another red head spoke, popping up to Harry’s right.

“Fred,” Ginny acknowledged, and Fred came around and gave her a hug. “You got my text?”

Fred nodded. “Yeah – you’re all good. I added a few security charms to the club; your charge is safe here.” He turned to Harry. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Fred. If you see a less handsome version of me around, it’s my brother George.” 

Harry smiled back, asking Ginny, “Does your family own this club?” 

“Technically, it’s Fred and George’s. Ron works here on and off,” Ginny explained, grabbing some drinks from Ron and finding them a place to sit.

“Well, to awkward family dinners,” Harry said and lifted his glass, clinking it against Ginny’s. He took a sip and cringed. “What is this?”

“Firewhiskey,” she told him, though he noticed she was only drinking water, “You’ve never had it?” Her tone was clearly incredulous.

“No! That’s – hot!” he confirmed, grimacing as he drank the rest of the shot. 

“You politicians.” Ginny shook her head, “do you only drink non-magical drinks?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe? I’ve never thought about it.” A tray of drinks floated towards them and Harry grabbed one.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t drink that too fast.”

“Yes ma’am,” he responded and took a sip. “So,” he winced again feeling the burn of the liquor drip down his throat, “what’s it like,” he waved his hands around as if to imply _‘living with all of this’_ , “having a bunch of brothers?” He was relieved she seemed to have relaxed, no longer bearing the demeanor of a rigid Corps Officer.

She laughed. “It’s – well, it’s not bad. I love them all dearly, even Percy if you believe it. But by the time I was done with secondary school, I was so sick of all their overprotection, I signed up for the Corps and never looked back,” she explained. “Mostly though, it’s loud. The twins especially, they’re inventors and entertainers at heart, so there was never a moment of quiet.”

Harry smiled, thinking of the pervasive quiet that marked his own childhood; a little ruckus didn’t sound like such a bad thing. 

“So,” Ginny turned to him, “are you going to share what happened that led you to a night of ‘letting loose’?”

Harry laughed and considered it, shaking his head. “Daphne and I have been engaged for over a year now. Her dad is constantly nagging us to set a wedding date,” he confirmed.

“That’s it?” She looked disappointed.

“No.” He laughed a little more genuinely this time, and she smiled when she saw it reach his eyes. “But that’s all I’m telling _you_.”

“Touché,” she said, and they clacked their glasses again, Harry beginning to feel the drinks’ effects.

He paused, appearing contemplative for a moment. “My father – he’s a political genius,” he started. Ginny’s smile faded as she looked at him and nodded. “Which, when I’m running for re-election, is perfect. And when I’m trying to determine how to get votes on a bill I’m sponsoring – that’s great. But when I just need my dad to be my dad, well... sometimes it’s hard.” 

She gave him a thoughtful frown, and then Harry winced, realizing what he’d said. “I’m so sorry Ginny, I forgot about your dad.”

Ginny shook her head and put her hand out to stop him. “It’s alright – my oldest brother Bill, he’s been like a father to me since mine passed. I know I’m blessed, having a big family. If you need someone to talk to, I’m happy to be an unbiased listener.”

Harry contemplated this, smiling slightly. “I dunno - I guess that’s it. Being a politician can be - exhausting. I constantly feel like I have to be a certain way. It can be draining.”

“Well that’s easy then,” Ginny smirked, “you need to relax. Come on, it’s a good band tonight, let’s dance.”

His eyes bulged. At first, she thought maybe she crossed a line, but then he spoke, “Oh no, no no no no, no no. I don’t dance.”

“Everyone dances,” Ginny told him.

“Not me.”

“Why?”

“I have two left feet!” he explained. “When I was younger, before the _Event,_ my parents tried to have me formally trained like a proper Wizard; it was a disaster!”

“Well then, good thing there will be none of that formal dancing here!” Before he could protest further, she got up and yanked him along with her.

They stood towards the back of the dance floor as the house band started playing a cover of The Proclaimers’ _I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)_. 

Harry’s fear of dancing began to subside, and he smiled. “I know this one!” 

Ginny rolled her eyes as she danced, one hand up and pumping to the beat. “Good - you’re not a complete lost cause!”

He laughed, shaking his head. He tried to imitate her dance moves, and wound up doing a strange hip roll. He could tell Ginny was trying not to laugh at him.

“Don’t worry about what _I’m_ doing - just - let loose, that’s the point of dancing,” she shouted to be heard over the throngs of clubbers and the bass. The chorus came on, and she jumped to the familiar beat.

Harry grinned, feeling momentarily self conscious before he joined her, jumping and singing to the familiar tune. He felt oddly liberated as he moved along with the music.

It was exhilarating - being one of a swarm of club goers, the music pulsing all around him. He watched Ginny from a foot away, her head banging and red locks, typically hidden beneath her officer’s cap, swinging left to right. There was freedom in this - in being anonymous and unconcerned with how his actions were perceived by those around him - in letting himself simply _be_ . And as he watched Ginny shout the lyrics in time with the singer, he found there was also a certain freedom in being with _her_.

He stared at Ginny, who had started doing some variation of the robot - completely out of time with the music. “What are you doing?” he shouted, moving closer so she could hear him, a wide smile stuck on his face.

She shrugged with a sort of half-smile. “I’m having fun - try it!” 

So he did, watching her all the while. “Where did you learn this?”

“The robot?” 

“No! I mean,” they now stood only a few inches apart in order to speak over the cacophony, “to just - dance, enjoy yourself, not worry about anything.”

He watched her smile fade slightly. “What’s the point of everything else if we can’t stop and dance?”

It was something he had never considered; always so wrapped up in politics and the weight of his own legacy, he could never imagine a time where he could just _dance,_ do something fun simply for the sake of enjoyment. Contentment blossomed in his chest as he watched Ginny, now performing a variation of the sprinkler to Modern English’s _I Melt With You_. 

After a few minutes, the music shifted to a mellow tune. Dancers around them paired up as the band started playing a cover of Poison’s _Every Rose Has its Thorns._

Ginny frowned. “Do you want to go back to the bar?”

They stood awkwardly, surrounded by couples. Harry knew it made sense to leave the dance floor, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so happy and at ease. So he shook his head and tentatively offered her his hand. Ginny’s brows furrowed momentarily before she accepted it, allowing him to place his hands lightly on her hips. 

As they swayed, Harry felt that same warmth from earlier, an undeniable sense of connection. Ginny hummed the tune gently under her breath, and Harry watched her neck flush, presumably from their prolonged contact.

He unconsciously closed the gap between them a few inches, so that rather than looking at her face, his right cheek brushed her left and her breaths blew softly against his neck. He tried to remember dancing like this in the past - he was sure he had, at some point in secondary school and at various parliament related functions since. But he always recalled it being a chore. This was - most certainly _not_ that.

He swallowed as the Corps officer swayed gently against him, her breaths quickening. Harry Potter, politician, didn’t have nights like this - he didn’t get to take a break, or even take a _breath_. Yet, right now in this moment, Harry Potter the man breathed without worry. He closed his eyes and continued to breathe, taking in the scent of her hair, the music rumbling in his chest, the feel of her hands on his neck. 

Opening his eyes again, he felt like he was seeing her for the first time. Out of her Corps uniform, her smile seemed to reach her brown eyes and mischievous dimples marked her cheeks. He realized - she wasn’t just a Corps Officer, just like _he_ was more than a parliamentary representative. He was suddenly full of questions for her - like why she joined the Corps and how she knew when it was okay to relax every now and then.

His heart quickened as she pushed her cheek towards his chest, and a small smile formed as he let his chin hover over her head, his arms wrapping around her protectively. There was a certain stillness - a sense of peace that Harry wanted to soak in.

And as quickly as it started, the song was over. He reluctantly loosened his grip and pulled away, shaking his head slightly and giving Ginny a thoughtful smile. “Alright?” he asked stupidly, not sure what to say.

She nodded at him, her face conflicted. “I’m - uh - going back to the bar.”

Harry nodded. “Alright,” he repeated, unable to form a proper sentence.

They returned to the bar, and Ron handed them drinks, giving Harry an inscrutable look before he returned to mixing cocktails.

A voice sounded behind them. “Ginevra Weasley.” Ginny’s eyes widened and she froze, her hand hovering beside her glass. 

“Dean Thomas,” she responded, getting a hold of herself. Harry watched the interaction curiously.

“I heard you were here,” Dean said, giving her a knowing look.

“I’m working,” she said, pointing to Harry.

“Ron can look after him.” Dean waved her excuse off. Now she gave Harry a meaningful look, mouthing _‘Help me!’_

“Er,” Harry looked from a petrified Ginny to an excited Dean and an amused Ron.

“Oy Ginny, you know we’re not going to let you out of here without a song or your tab paid.” Ron shooed her away. “I’ll keep an eye on the hot shot for you.” 

“Remember what I said, Potter - what you see in the club stays in the club,” she said in a voice only he could hear. He stood up straight to salute her as she headed towards the stage.

“A song?” Harry asked.

“Ginny’s a singer,” Ron confirmed, manually drying a tumbler with a rag. “She’s quite good. In another life, maybe she would have made a living off of it.” He shrugged.

“Seriously?” Harry asked.

“Seriously.”

“I never would have guessed,” Harry mumbled, taking another sip of his drink and turning his attention towards the stage, where the music had stopped. He winced slightly at the buzz of feedback coming through the speakers and suddenly heard Dean Thomas’s voice:

“We have a treat for you tonight! For one song only, I give you – Ginny Weasley!”

Harry noted he was not alone in clapping, and there were a few catcalls throughout the audience. The guitar and a drumbeat started and Ginny tapped her foot to the music, her eyes closed and her head nodding to the beat of Duran Duran’s _Hungry Like the Wolf._

_Dark in the city, night in a wire_  
_Steam in the subway, earth is afire_

“Holy crap,” Harry said, eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Ron shook his head laughing.

“She’s amazing!” Harry watched as she sang into the microphone, meeting each note. He’d never seen anything like it. He’d been to concerts before, even a few dinner parties at the Greengrasses where they had live music, but this was something different. He couldn’t quite name what precisely he was feeling. but listening to Ginny sing, he felt lighter, more free, than he'd felt in a long time. His fight with his father fell away, unimportant, and he was aware only of her voice and a pleasant warmth blossoming in his chest as he watched her sing

She opened her eyes and looked right at him, a brilliant smile splayed across her face. For all her hesitation before, she looked confident now, even _comfortable_ :

_Woman, you want me, give me a sign_  
_And catch my breathing even closer behind_

“So,” Ron started. Harry blinked at the interruption and turned towards Ron, who was looking at him suspiciously. “What’s it like being Harry Potter?” 

Harry laughed, “It’s exhausting.”

“Yeah?” Ron smirked. 

_In touch with the ground_  
_I’m on the hunt, I’m after you_  
_Smell like I sound, I’m lost in a crowd_  
_And I’m hungry like a wolf_

“I mean it has its moments, like almost getting blown up.” Harry shrugged.

“I’ll bet.” Ron shook his head.

“What about you? Ginny said you only work here sometimes?” Harry recalled.

Ron nodded, “I’m trying to bring sports back.”

Harry looked up, eyes wide. “Really?!”

Ron smiled, “Yeah. I’ve got a small football league put together. I’ve been working with Krum to try and get some broomstick legislation passed – oh how I dream of Quidditch!”

“Oh, Quidditch.” Harry thought back in nostalgia to the short amount of time he had been allowed to fly.

“So, I can count on your support?” Ron’s eyes sparkled.

“No comment.” Harry smirked.

Harry turned his attention back to the stage; Ginny had removed the mic from the stand and danced the stage. She was an odd juxtaposition - stern Corps Officer by day, singer by night. But maybe, in a strange way, there was a sense of harmony to it - she had found something that kept her grounded.

_Strut on a line, it’s discord and rhyme_  
_I’m on the hunt, I’m after you_  
_Mouth is alive with juices like wine_  
_And I’m hungry like the wolf_

_Burning the ground, I break from the crowd_  
_I’m on the hunt, I’m after you_  
_Scent and a sound, I’m lost and I’m found_  
_And I’m hungry like the wolf_

“You look athletic enough, take this.” Ron reached into his back pocket and handed Harry a blank card.

“Er,” Harry looked on both sides of the card, “what am I supposed to be looking at?”

Ron shook his head. “It’s a game card. We have a few intramural football leagues. Once a week or so, this will warm up and show a time and place and, if you want, you can show up and play football.” He shrugged.

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“Yes,” Ron laughed, “it’s only us common folk though, so don’t be expecting us to call fouls or anything like that.”

“Of course.” Harry smiled, pocketing the card.

Harry looked back towards the stage in time to catch the end of Ginny’s performance. She gave a brief ‘thank you’ and deftly avoided an encore.

“You were amazing,” Harry told her earnestly as she took her seat next to him again. Her face was bright red, but she wore a brilliant smile.

“Thank you!” She grabbed the water Ron handed her without even looking his way, chugging it down and then using the jumper she previously wore to wipe sweat from her face. “That was exhausting! I feel so out of shape!”

“Different muscles, sis,” Ron reprimanded her.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ginny rolled her eyes and then focused back on Harry. “So, mission accomplished then?”

He shook his head, confused. “Sorry, what?”

She laughed. “We came here so you could relieve some tension, let loose; you feel like you’ve done that?”

Harry thought for a moment and then smiled broadly, nodding his head. “Thank you,” he said genuinely.

“You’re welcome! And on that note,” she looked at her watch and sent a quick message on her phone, “we’re out of here.”

Harry pouted, “It’s so early!”

“It’s not!” she reprimanded. “It’s almost midnight – curfew is at 1am, and it will take at least 20 minutes to get to your apartment in that monstrosity that takes you everywhere.”

“Ah ha – so you agree? That thing is ridiculous.” Harry wagged his finger at her.

“Yes, but it keeps you safe.” She waved good-bye to her brothers and led Harry out the non-magical entrance, which he admitted was quite boring and led out to a less run-down street.

The car was waiting for them at the entrance. Ginny opened his door and, when he dilly dallied, she practically manhandled him into his seat.

The drive was short – the roads clear this time at night, as they drove from the east side to central London. Harry rested his cheek against the window as they passed the dimly lit rebuilt shops and dilapidated war-torn rubble.

The car stopped in front of his apartment building. Harry made a halfhearted attempt to open his door, before Ginny was suddenly in front of him. She opened his door open with one hand and mumbled something into her phone with the other, her eyes scanning the front of his apartment building. Harry blinked a few times, attempting to clear his head, before taking a deep breath and heading in.

Ginny helped him up to his apartment, pocketing her phone as she continued to analyze their surroundings. This wasn’t the woman he had danced with or the singer - this was the meticulous Corps Officer who was, he acknowledged, quite good at her job. She grabbed his key and opened the door, rolling her eyes as he swayed slightly.

“Remember your promise Potter?” Ginny made a zipping motion over her mouth, hand still on the doorknob as Harry stood at the threshold.

Harry laughed, recalling her singing. “You shouldn’t keep it a secret. You’re really good.”

She shook her head, and waved inside before leaving. Harry turned, smiling, as he noticed Daphne sitting on the sofa.

“Daphne!” Harry called out. 

“Harry! Oh darling, you’re drunk!” Daphne remarked, her expression shifting from pensive to amused.

“Psh! Just a little tipsy,” he explained, holding his thumb and forefinger close together, “I have to tell you about Ron Weasley. He’s gonna bring back _Quidditch!_ ” Harry trailed off.

“Well, I’m glad you made it home alright.” Daphne grabbed his arm, pushing him to the bedroom.

“What are you still doing up? Did you wait for me?”

Daphne looked Harry over and swallowed. “There was – something I wanted to tell you but,” she paused and shook her head, “it can wait until tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

_50 km west of Aberdeen_   
_October 14, 2006_

Hermione was holed up in her lab for three days. During that time, Draco did his best to decipher the puzzle that was Hermione Granger – or ‘Granger’ as he had started calling her in his head. Unfortunately, rather than coming to any conclusions, he found himself with more questions than answers. For example, in spite of her willingness to answer his questions, she had yet to actually say _why_ and _what_ she was doing. Like why she was out in the middle of nowhere? And what was she researching?

He had started to look through the rest of her book collection and was surprised and somewhat horrified to find four different books on magical genealogy. These were books that Purebloods kept secret from Half-bloods and here she was, writing her chicken scratch and notations as if it was an academic exercise! Draco couldn’t understand what any of her notes meant – he even tried to use some of her horrid muggle science books to find definitions. But whatever she was doing, it eluded him.

“Sorry again for being MIA the last few days – I have a few particularly sensitive experiments going at the moment that required my absolute attention,” Hermione explained around midday, placing two small bowls of pasta on the coffee table and pulling the kitchen chair up to sit with him. “How are you feeling about everything?” she asked, her tone sincere.

“Alright,” he replied, grabbing a bit of the pasta and taking a bite – _a bit bland,_ he thought before shrugging and swallowing. “So,” he started, watching as she ate contentedly, “what exactly is it that you’re doing out here?”

“Research,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yes – you’ve said that – but _what_ research?” he questioned again with a slight eye roll.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she contemplated answering his question. She took another bite, giving herself more time to think before finally responding, “We’re in the middle of a magical nuclear wasteland. The fact that a forest exists here at all is mind blowing. Its study could tell us an assortment of things about life and magic itself!” she exclaimed before returning her attention to the pasta.

Draco mulled this over. “How long have you been out here?” 

Hermione looked up and pondered this for a moment before responding, “A little over two years I believe.”

Now Draco looked incredulous. “You’ve been out here – alone – for two years?”

She blinked at him, “Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Don’t you get lonely?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, “but my work is too important.”

“No – it sounds like you think _maybe one day_ your work will be important,” He said smugly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Well what about you? What are you doing here?” she asked with a slight smirk.

His smile immediately dropped. “Alright...” He watched as she froze, fork inches away from her mouth, and looked at him with surprise. “If I tell you why I left the Death Eaters, will you tell me why you’re _really_ out here?”

She paused for a moment to consider this. Her mission wasn’t exactly _classified_ so to speak, so much as she had been thinking of Draco as a foreign agent – nothing wrong with talking with him and being polite, but no reason to say more than necessary.

But she was so _curious_ . She had never even heard of a non-magical encountering a _real_ Death Eater! As far as she was aware, they were a _proper_ cult – once you went in, you never went out. She had so many questions, and this seemed as good an opening as any.

“Deal,” she told him finally, eyes lit up. “So?” she asked expectantly.

“Well,” he started, struggling to maintain eye contact. “I left because I was bored.” he said with a shrug.

She scoffed, “I don’t believe you.”

He returned the gesture. “Excuse me?”

“You’re telling me you took off into the wilderness, leaving behind presumably _everything you know_ because you were _bored_? I find that utterly unbelievable.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Believe what you want, Granger.” Her eyebrows raised at his use of her last name. “But you wouldn’t understand,” he finished.

“Try me then.” Her arms came down to her sides as she leaned in ever so slightly.

He exhaled. “The Death Eaters – there are only maybe 500 of us. So – I’ve been very close with nearly everyone my age since – well since the _Event_ more or less,” he shrugged. “One of my best friends – Millicent Bulstrode – well...” he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Take your time, Draco,” she reassured him.

“The Dark Lord’s goal is for us to live in a pureblood utopia. Part of that is ensuring the continuation of pureblood lines – particularly lines as untainted as the Malfoy bloodline,” he stated with a hint of pride. “The Dark Lord doesn’t allow just anyone to be together. He has powerful foresight and an unmatched ability to detect compatible magic. He, and he alone, assigns witches and wizards to marry.”

Hermione started to see where he was going with this. “So what happened?” 

“The last few years, we’ve noticed fewer births in our community. The Dark Lord was not happy with this but couldn’t fault any of our people who were doing – well – everything they could to procreate,” he explained clinically. “But to hurry the process along, the Dark Lord paired up my entire generation,” he finished.

“And you were paired with your friend Millicent?” Hermione surmised.

“Yes,” he didn’t quite meet her gaze. “If that had been it, I would have been fine. I trust the Dark Lord to know what’s best for me and our people.” Hermione watched him unconsciously rub at his right shoulder, feeling as though there was something off with his explanation.

There was an awkward pause. “But?” Hermione asked.

“Millicent was already _with_ someone – another close friend of mine, Vincent Crabbe,” he finished.

“So,” she wrapped up, “you left so that they could be together?”

He shrugged. “More or less. But,” he paused now, finally looking at her, “I think I had this moment, after the Dark Lord told me he wanted me to marry Millicent, and I saw my entire life – like it was some sort of play.” He shifted on the couch uncomfortably, his fork moving the remaining bits of pasta from side to side. “I saw myself, just moving. Fulfilling my duty. But for what reason? I didn’t _love_ Millicent and I knew she could never love me – at least not in the way a man and wife should.”

Hermione had half a mind to point out that the survival of the species rationally should outweigh some vague notion of ‘love’. Given her own studies, she understood Voldemort’s reasoning, though she suspected Voldemort was using less than the scientific method to select his pairings. “So you left?” Her voice was somewhat incredulous.

He shrugged yet again, in a _what do you want from me_ type of gesture. “Yeah – I guess it was all too much. I’m not sure what I was thinking really; I just – had to get out of there.”

Hermione looked at him carefully. Something about his demeanor seemed disingenuous, and she found his explanation dubious. She felt that, even if he was telling her the truth, it wasn’t the whole story. 

“So,” he sat up straight and continued, “what are you _really_ doing here?”

“I’m trying to save the human race,” she told him.

This was not what he expected. “What?”

“You mentioned the Death Eaters were experiencing less and less births in the last few years?” She waited for him to nod his head in understanding before she continued. “You aren’t alone. The entire _world_ is experiencing a rapid decline in birth rates. So severe, in fact, that at the current rates, I’ve predicted humanity will be extinct within 200 years,” she finished.

“And you’re what? Sitting here alone in the middle of nowhere contemplating this?” He frowned.

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “We have not, in spite of extensive research, been able to identify the cause of the declining birth rate. At first, we assumed it had to do with the radioactivity – multiple nuclear events resulted in extensive pollution in the upper atmosphere, which we surmised may have caused humans to become impotent,” she explained logically.

“However, extensive studies have failed to corroborate this hypothesis. Witches and wizards have conducted their own studies, aiming to see if there was some sort of magical cause - but so far no one has been successful in finding an answer,” Hermione finished.

“So you’re out here - investigating the forest?” he asked dubiously.

“I’m not sure if you noticed before radiation sickness set in, but this forest is a remarkable thing. The uninhabitable zone we’re currently in was the subject of not only a nuclear explosion – but one that was enhanced with _magical_ properties. The resulting travesty was the elimination of nearly _all animal life_ in an 80 km radius.” She paused for effect, obviously expecting more of a reaction then she got from him. She tried to hide her disappointment. “The bomb completely transformed this area of land in _unprecedented_ ways! The wood doubled its size! And between here and Aberdeen a new desert was born!”

He thought he understood the significance of what she was saying but couldn’t quite bring himself to express the response she seemed to be expecting. He instead nodded dumbly, urging her to continue.

She bit back a cruel remark that had been at the tip of her tongue. “What has been the most – fascinating – thing I’ve seen thus far is that the wood has _bloomed_. No animals – save for the most basic of insects and critters – can survive. But the wood itself? It’s become something _incredible_. Magic seeps through everything in a way I’ve never seen in proper civilization. 

“So I’ve hypothesized that it wasn’t something strictly magical _or_ non-magical that caused the birth rate to decline. I believe it’s something that sits in both worlds – and I believe this wood, which most encapsulates this blending, holds the key to solving it,” she finished, self-satisfied.

Draco thought of something. “Is that why you have the wizarding genealogy texts?”

Hermione nodded, “Yes – since wizarding procreation has an element that goes beyond simple DNA, I had hoped to develop a better understanding of how magic is able to influence sexual reproduction.”

Draco eyed her suspiciously. “OK - let me get this straight.” He cleared his throat. “You volunteered to live out here – all alone – to research this?”

“Well,” Hermione hemmed and hawed for a moment, “I didn’t _exactly_ volunteer. I received my doctorate after receiving my Corps Officer certification. In my doctoral thesis, I had done some rudimentary research on the uninhabitable regions that now make up about one-fifth of the previously habitable world. My wizarding mentor suggested to one of the Corps lead researchers I would be an asset on the project, so I was asked if I would be willing to come out here and perform the research. And, well, I couldn’t exactly say no!” She stated the last part as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re saying that this is – what – potentially the best chance at _saving the human race_ and they sent a _lone Muggle_?” His voice was incredulous, and it took everything for Hermione not to huff at him.

“I understand you are _prejudiced,_ but I’m considered the top scientific mind of a generation!” she ground out.

“Alright,” he lobbed back at her, “let’s ignore any prejudice – why wouldn’t they send a wizard along? Why wouldn’t they send a more senior researcher?” This was something he just couldn’t understand, and it had been eating at him for three days – _why did they send her out here all alone?_

“When did you become an expert in Corps procedure?” she asked, her face closed off.

“I’ve been reading.” And sure enough, he held up a book titled _Corps – A History and Procedure Manual_. His eyes lit up as hers narrowed. “The whole point of the Corps is the effective blending of the Muggle and the magical. So you’re telling me that for this effort, which as you so _dramatically_ have stated could save the entire human race, they have decided to forgo the very core of their existence and send a single Muggle?”

She was seething – mostly because he did, in fact, have a point. She took a breath and attempted to look at the situation _rationally –_ methodically so to speak. She wasn’t exaggerating – she really was considered the greatest scientific mind of her generation. Of course, her intelligence had also led to a rather lonely existence. 

When she was offered the opportunity to study in the Scottish uninhabitable zone – and possibly _save mankind_ – it was a dream come true! The only person she even missed was her wizarding mentor. Otherwise, her life for the past two years had been a solitary one, and she had been content to focus exclusively on her work.

Now though, Draco’s words bounced around her head – all of his _whys,_ which she had previously found _adorable_ and _childish,_ now scratched at her mind like nails on a chalkboard. As she looked at the situation, trying to remove her emotions from the matter and consider it as an outsider – a Death Eater perhaps – she could see: It _didn’t_ make sense! She had been so distracted by her own belief in her ability to solve this problem – to _save mankind_ – that she hadn’t for one moment questioned the fact that they’d sent her out here alone. Until now.

Because Draco was _right_ \- the Corps wouldn’t send a lone non-magical Lieutenant on an assignment all alone in the middle of nowhere. Beyond simply Corps procedures, which would typically require more than one Officer on such an assignment, there were the psychological implications of sending a person, alone, to the uninhabitable zone!

And - she suddenly realized – it had been over two years since they’d assigned her to this outpost! Her superiors were always delighted with _whatever_ progress she made – never rushing her or making her feel as though she were on some sort of timeline, when she knew very well she _was_ on one. Was it possible the Corps was sabotaging their own efforts to resolve the matter? But that, too, made no sense.

She looked at Draco who smirked at her as these revelations hit her, one by one. Her face reddened in pure embarrassment. She was _smart,_ dammit! She was logical and cold and – well, human, she had to admit. And most of all, she realized, she had been _arrogant_. So quick to believe in her own ability to become a savior, she hadn’t thought to question any of the fundamental assumptions in the matter.

“What made you think there was something off about my being here?” she asked once she collected herself, hoping to come off as calm and unbothered.

“Well – being you’re the first Muggle I’ve ever come across, at first I figured maybe this was how you all lived,” he started. “But after reading a few of your less scientific books, I deduced that you’re something of an oddity – at least as far as your living conditions are concerned.”

She looked impressed. “Your deductions were correct.”

“You sound surprised.”

She shrugged. “You seemed,” she paused, “less intelligent when you first showed up.” A smile played at the corners of her lips.

He looked up for a moment – were he a non-magical, Hermione would have thought he was praying. “I was a bit – out of my element when you found me.“ She snorted at his understatement. “It took me a few days to get my bearings, to understand the new situation I found myself in.”

“You’ve adapted,” she pointed out, her head once again tilted. She was reassessing him, he realized. He had made her acknowledge a fundamental flaw in her logic, and now she was reevaluating all of her preliminary assumptions about him. “It’s very impressive.”

“Thank you,” he said, not really sure if he meant it. She was looking him over, assessing every inch of him in an effort to identify some sort of flaw. Her gaze made him feel vulnerable – naked – and he attempted to shrug it off and return to the point at hand. “As we were discussing – once I determined this situation was not usual, I more or less suspected what was amiss.”

She looked directly at him, eyes wide. “What is it?” He was right – her being out here alone _didn’t make sense_ . But then ‘why’… She couldn’t for the life of her figure out _why_ they’d sent her here by herself – it was the point that eluded her. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asked. She squinted at him, as if to say ' _of course it’s not obvious; if it were I wouldn’t be asking you_.’ 

He looked directly at her and smirked. “You’re a witch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

_50 miles west of Aberdeen_   
_October 14, 2006_

_“Isn’t it obvious?” He smirked. “You’re a witch.”_

Hermione looked at him incredulously and laughed. “Oh, I get it now.”

“What?” He was completely taken aback by her reaction.

“Yes. Your entire life you’ve been taught what a non-magical is, how they act, how they are _inferior_ . So, you meet _me_ and discover that I don’t fit neatly into that box, so rather than try and reassess your own worldview and your own beliefs, you simply adjust _me_ to fit into yours,” she explained mechanically.

“A minute ago you agreed with me that there’s something odd about your assignment here, and now you’re saying I’m just – rationalizing?” Draco’s face was a mask of confusion.

“No – you have a point that there _is_ in fact something off about my assignment,” she conceded. “But let’s take your hypothesis and consider it.” Hermione ripped a piece of paper from the notebook she always seemed to carry and wrote on it _Hypothesis 1: I am a Witch_. 

“Were I a witch, presumably I would have experienced bouts of accidental magic in my youth, yes?” She now wrote an **x** underneath and, to the right of it added _No accidental magic_.

“Then there’s the question of the assignment – if I were a witch, why would that explain my assignment?” Hermione pointed out. “Your assertion seems to have no basis.”

Draco chuckled and she looked at him, unamused, before he spoke. “You have a magical scar,” he told her.

“What?” she questioned, though her right hand immediately fell to the scar on the right side of her face, the one typically covered by her hair.

“Ah – so you’ve suspected it as well.” His typical smirk was present once again.

“No.” She denied it, though he could tell he was getting to her. “It’s not magical.”

“Then tell me, how did you get it?” he pushed.

She looked at him for a moment, her face shifting from obstinate, to thoughtful, to fearful.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Draco interrupted her thoughts, his voice notably softer.

She shook her head, the fear continuing to mark her face as she took purposeful breaths, as if trying to force herself to calm down. “How did you know?” she unconsciously whispered.

“Most people, well at least wizards, but I assume people in general, remember their childhood,” he pointed out gently.

“But I was in a car crash! I had a concussion – I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation for this,” she said as she stroked the scar, desperately trying to recall the exact clinical diagnosis for a concussion.

“Granger,” he continued, “do you remember your car crash?”

Hermione looked at him, unsure. “Somewhat – but I’ve never been sure if it’s a true memory or simply a projection of what I assume had occurred. It’s been 17 years.”

“That scar – I don’t know much about car crashes, but I am familiar with magical injuries. Do you recognize the shape of it?” Draco asked.

She frowned. “I’ve honestly always avoided looking at it.”

Draco squinted his eyes at that. “Well you may not recognize it, but your scar bears a striking resemblance to Orion.”

She physically jolted back, her hand now brushing against the scar as if to confirm or deny this. “What do you mean? The constellation?” She tried to recall the stars in her head, but personally had never been one to care for such meaningless study. The arbitrary movements of the stars within sight from earth held no bearing on her existence.

“Yes. I’ve completed studies in astronomy, and that scar is eerily similar,” he pointed out. She couldn’t help it; she jogged to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She found it physically difficult to look at the scar but, once she did, she had to admit he had a point. The entire area was pink with red dots throughout. She couldn’t confirm his specific assessment without further research but she was willing, for the moment, to assume he was correct.

She walked back and retook her seat, noodles forgotten between them, and continued, “So I’m assuming you have a theory? Let’s hear it.” 

Draco did a mental dance at the small victory and cleared his throat to begin. “I believe that something happened – either you used your magic in defense or perhaps it was just accidental magic. Whatever it was, someone must have decided that you couldn’t be trusted with your magic. Or,” Draco paused, “perhaps Death Eaters came across you and simply altered your memory and removed your magic to prevent you from entering the wizarding world.” Neither theory alone seemed sufficient, but Draco couldn’t come up with a better explanation.

Hermione frowned. “You think someone removed my magic because my parents are non-magicals?” 

Draco shrugged, “I’m not sure.”

Hermione shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. The WEA has no issues with witches and wizards born from non-magicals. So, were I a witch, it would suggest my magic was removed by someone before the _Event_. If this was the case, then no one in the Corps would know about it. So I don’t see how that could have anything to do with my assignment in the uninhabitable zone?”

Draco’s eyes lit up as understanding dawned on him. “Oh!”

“What?” Hermione pleaded.

“It _was_ because of you!” Draco practically jumped at the realization.

“ _What_ was because of me? Spit it out, Malfoy!”

“My proximity to you took away my magic!” Draco stated triumphantly. She looked incredulous and he pointed out. “Have you come up with a better explanation?”

“No.” And she _had_ been extensively studying this. Her initial hypothesis that the radiation had removed his magic had proven false and further tests had failed to yield any new insights into the matter.

“OK – so here we go.” He was standing up and pacing the length of her small living room. “Something happened – we don’t know precisely what – but the result was that someone in authority, to be determined, altered your memory and did something to your magic.

“Now, I’m not an expert in removing someone’s ability to use magic, but my understanding is it’s inherently _unnatural_ . Witches and wizards were _born to wield magic!_ To remove the ability is tantamount to removing a limb. So,” he paused and put up a finger as he considered his next words carefully. Hermione, in the silence, wondered if _this_ was what it was like for others when she had a eureka moment, and she once again forced herself to reconsider the man standing before her.

“What if, as you got older and your magic grew but had no outlet, it poured itself into the spell binding your magic? If so, perhaps the spell was able to expand outwards! Maybe the witches and wizards in the Corps discovered proximity to you led to their magic failing. And maybe they sent you out here where you wouldn’t be able to affect anyone.” Draco finished and looked at her expectantly.

She felt like her world crashed around her right then. She tried to remind herself – this was a hairbrained theory that she was entertaining for academic purposes and might not be true. But the puzzle pieces were fitting – only the picture looked nothing like the box.

“So you’re saying they sent me out here – what – to rot?” Hermione had tears in her eyes. She had considered the Corps the closest thing she had to family – they had her utmost and complete loyalty. And now – she was looking back and trying to figure out what happened. “I don’t recall being around wizards and witches much except for –“ and she covered her mouth as the realization hit.

“Your wizard mentor?” he surmised. 

“But – he –“ Hermione struggled to find the words. “I can’t believe he would do this. I can believe the Corps could have unsavory figures but he – he’s my _friend_. I believe he genuinely cares for me.”

Draco considered this. “I don’t know the Corps or your wizard mentor. It’s possible he simply told a superior who took action, and your mentor could be none the wiser,” Draco pointed out which oddly comforted Hermione. “Actually, I guess there’s another possibility.”

“What?” Hermione frowned.

“Well, it’s possible the Corps doesn’t know your specific predicament and perhaps just thinks something about you is causing others’ magic to fail. Maybe they had nothing to do with you losing your powers.” He shrugged. 

Hermione considered it, once again attempting to reconcile her experiences with the Corps with this notion that they would send her on an assignment under false pretenses. The Corps were notoriously transparent - it was a fundamental tenet.

There had to be something she was missing - something more to the situation that she wasn’t able to see from her cabin in the middle of the uninhabitable zone. But at the moment, she felt completely helpless - lost in an endless circle of questions.

“What do I do now?” Hermione mumbled aloud.

It was an odd role reversal. Hermione was suddenly out of her element, questioning everything and everyone she had ever known, forced to seek answers from someone completely foreign to her - someone she was fairly certain she shouldn’t trust. But there was no one else - even if she weren’t stuck in the uninhabitable zone, the Corps itself was suspect, including her Wizard mentor. 

“We get your powers back of course.” Draco smiled, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Hermione scoffed, “How? You don’t have your magic.”

Draco shook his head, “I may not know exactly what was done to you – but a spell that can continue in perpetuity must be rooted in something. I’m guessing, in this instance, your memory issues are related. I think if we can recover your memory, the spell may break.”

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, thinking of the books she had read on psychology and hypnosis. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Now he smiled, a cocky smirk covering his face. “I have a natural gift with the mind arts; I believe I can help you.”

She looked wary. “Like hypnosis?”

Draco shrugged. “I have no idea what hypnosis is, but if you let me, I believe I can help you recover what you lost.”

Hermione let his words dance around in her head and considered his theory in full. There was a certain amount of logic to it – Hermione’s memory loss was peculiar. Her current assignment was admittedly dubious. And the scar that marked her face – a scar which she conveniently covered up all the time – was seemingly unnatural.

She still didn’t know if she should trust Malfoy though. His story of why he had left the Death Eaters had felt incomplete. And his rationale for why he thought her a witch most certainly felt like a stretch. Further, it still didn’t quite resonate that the Corps would send her out to the middle of nowhere simply because she affected magic. 

Perhaps he was a master manipulator and had weaved an intricate tale to get his wand back? But there was something in his words ‘ _help you recover what you lost_ ’ that caused a visceral reaction. Was there something she lost that she could get back? 

“I’m not giving you your wand back,” she stated. He nodded in agreement, understanding these were her terms. 

“I won’t need it,” he assured her. “So, are you ready?”

“What?” she asked, taken aback.

“Might as well start now,” he suggested.

“Oh. Ok. What do we do?” she asked.

Draco took a moment to consider. “I’m going to try and help you remember the car accident,” he told her. She recoiled in response, but before she had a chance to interrupt, he held out his hand and continued, “It likely won’t be pleasant – but I believe if you can remember this – what truly happened, it will open the door to other memories.”

“But _how_?” Hermione asked, voice betraying her constant curiosity.

“If I had my magic, I would use Legilimency to go into your mind and help to identify and separate the false memories. Without it, I will have to guide you with my words,” Draco explained.

Hermione nodded and gestured for him to get going. 

“OK,” Draco started, “I want you to close your eyes. Try and clear your mind.”

She nodded and complied, attempting to clear her head of all thoughts, though her busy mind betrayed her. 

As if he somehow knew what she was thinking, Draco started speaking again, softer this time. “Don’t fret if you can’t fully clear your mind. It’s a difficult exercise for even the most disciplined Occlumens.” 

She felt she should be offended by this statement but nodded nonetheless.

“Go back to the day of the car accident 17 years ago.” 

Hermione frowned as she tried to think of that day, but all she could remember was sitting in the backseat of their Ford Sierra. She tried to look at her parents but they were facing forward as they had a conversation she couldn’t make out. She looked out the window and non-descript streets streaked past. 

“What do you see?” Draco asked.

“I’m in the back seat of the car,” she told him, eyebrows drawn.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

He could practically see her eyes darting left to right under her closed lids as she fought for the memory. “I don’t know,” she said lightly. “Everything is – blurry.”

“Do you recognize anything in your surroundings?” Draco asked.

She tried to focus, but the world surrounding the memory was unfamiliar. “No – it’s just out of focus.”

“OK – do you have a book or anything in the car? Something distinct you can hold onto?” Draco asked.

She realized the backseat was empty. She shook her head.

“Alright,” Draco said gently, “try and force your mind to remember what happened _before_ you got into the car.” 

She obeyed and trained her mind but nothing came. 

“Try and remember a simple fact from the car, something that a wizard altering your memory wouldn’t think to change – perhaps something you were wearing or a mood you felt – and cling to that.” 

She nodded and, recalling the pink cardigan she had on in her memory, focused in on that. Suddenly she was jolted by a scene of her younger self packing a bag in her bedroom. 

“What is it? What do you see?” Draco asked, curious.

“I’m – packing a bag,” Hermione said and watched as her younger self methodically added clothing to the bag. She grabbed a dilapidated old stuffed otter and seemed to consider it for a while before pushing it to the bottom of the duffel. “Freckles!” She said instinctually and opened her eyes in pure amazement.

“What is it? What did you see?” Draco asked.

“I had a stuffed Otter – Freckles. I don’t know how I forgot about it,” Hermione said, frowning. “I was packing a bag – for what, I don’t know, but I saw it.”

“So, you were going on a trip?” Draco suggested.

She shrugged. “Perhaps. It’s not entirely clear. Maybe I was simply packing away clothes from the summer season?”

Draco hummed, “Alright, do you want to continue?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed and immediately closed her eyes, attempting to clear her mind and awaiting further instruction. 

“Go back to your room where you were packing,” Draco instructed. Hermione thought of the otter and was back there. “This time focus on _what_ you were packing.”

“A couple of shirts, some shorts, socks,” she mumbled, then paused. “Nothing notable.”

Draco nodded to himself. “OK, try and stay in the memory; what did you do after you packed?” 

She sat still, only her face moving as she fought to remember. She zipped the small duffel bag and headed downstairs. Her parents were in the kitchen and appeared to be placing items from the refrigerator into a cooler. Hermione urged them to turn around, anxious to see their faces, but this was a memory; suddenly she followed her younger self to a closet where she pulled out a light rain jacket.

_“Hermione! Are you ready to go?”_ She felt a pang in her chest as she heard her father’s voice so casually.

_“Yes da!”_ she responded, running happily.

“Hermione?” She heard and blinked her eyes open to see Draco Malfoy looking at her with a pensive stare. She realized she had been crying and quickly wiped her eyes. “I think that’s enough for today,” he said.

The pair sat in an amicable silence for a few moments before Hermione spoke, her voice light and melodic, a sharp contrast to her typical clinical demeanor. “I saw my parents – they were putting food in a cooler. And I heard my father’s voice,” she told him. “I think,” her voice became just moderately edgier, “I think we were going camping.” And as she said it, she became more certain. 

Draco nodded at her contemplatively. “So, the car crash happened on the way?”

She shrugged, “I guess?” He nodded and she looked out the window – startled by the black of the sky. She felt a sudden urge to go out and try and find that constellation, _Orion_. She looked to Draco. “Thank you. I’m still,” she paused, struggling to make eye contact, “not sure what to believe, but I can now remember my father’s voice. Thank you for that.”

He gave her a small smile and watched as she left for her bedroom for the night. Theories were swirling in his head – impossible theories he couldn’t make sense of. As he lay on the couch, scratching at his right shoulder, his dreams filled with visions of a haunted campground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Quick heads up** : The next chapter will be the first _interlude_ , these are shorter chapters that show just a moment in times for our charachters. These are scenes that are not critical to the plot or that neccessarily move the story forward but help to understand the characters a bit more. Technically, interludes can be skipped and you should still be able to understand the story (I believe. Others may disagree.)
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10: Find the Cost of Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in my last update, this is a short interlude. It helps bridge the London gap between chapter 7 and 10 - but is technically not necessary to the movement of the overall plot.

_Interlude: Find the Cost of Freedom_   
_London_   
_October 14, 2006_

The Parliament Meeting House elevator came to an abrupt halt. Ginny immediately grabbed the railing with one hand and her wand with the other, standing alert.

“I’m sure it’s a false alarm.” Harry shrugged, tapping his foot and looking at his watch.

Ginny glared at the man, nostrils flared. A red light was beeping, confirming an emergency situation was in progress. 

_‘Attention all employees and visitors in the Parliament Meeting House. We are currently testing a new alarm system. Please remain where you are at this time. The drill will be completed shortly.’_

“See?” Harry smirked.

Ginny rolled her eyes and replaced her wand in its holster. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little bit more careful. Someone _did_ try to kill you after all.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s the new security measures - apparently we’ll be having lockdowns all the time.” He loosened his tie and took off his jacket, appearing to relax.

“Any idea how long it will last?” Ginny was somewhat perturbed that she hadn’t been informed of the alarm test.

Harry frowned. “I think fifteen minutes? The memo made it seem like it would have minimal impact. Unless of course there was an actual active shooter or something.” He said it dismissively, as though that wasn’t a very real concern for him.

Ginny gave him a glare but nodded. “Alright.”

“So...” Harry perked up, leaning against a railing in the elevator. “What’s it like? In the Corps, I mean. I’ve always been curious if I’m honest…” he trailed off, possibly lost in a memory or some long lost childhood dream.

Ginny considered him for a moment. “It’s - interesting. It can be difficult to be away from family for long periods of time, but you get to travel all across the WEA, which is nice.”

“Really? Where have you gone?” 

“Well, after officer’s training, I spent a few years on rotations at the WEA border - so I got to see a good amount of Germany, Austria, and Sweden,” she explained.

“And?” He looked at her expectantly.

“What?”

He gave her a playful glare. “What was it like? Was the food amazing? Were the cities terrible?”

“Oh...” She shook her head, a small laugh escaping her lips. “I spent most of my time on military bases. I can tell you that Sweden in the winter is not particularly enjoyable. I mean - the most interesting thing was in Austria. People didn’t really like our presence, in spite of the fact that a Corps base does wonders for a local economy.”

“Really?” Harry frowned, and Ginny couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head.

“I mean, a lot of people are wary of the Corps.” She thought it was rather well known. “In Austria they’re just better organized. They say we’re the symbol of an oppressive regime.”

“The WEA? Oppressive?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

Ginny shrugged. “I’m not saying I _agree,_ but there is substantial regulation on both magicals and non-magicals. From the limitations on magic use to restrictions on the number of people who can congregate outside of major cities… I guess it’s not surprising there’s some unrest.”

He watched her intently, like he not only heard her but actually cared about her thoughts on the subject. It was something she had noticed recently - that he didn’t just treat her like a security guard. He genuinely wanted to _talk_ to her, to hear her opinions, even when they diverged from his own - in spite of the fact that he was a duly elected Member of WEA Parliament and she was a Corps Officer.

He furrowed his brows in thought for a moment before responding. “I guess I would rather lose a few freedoms if it means not living in anarchy - like we did for the two years following the _Event_.”

“But I think that’s exactly the point,” Ginny interjected. “How much of these freedoms have been lost due to fear of anarchy? And how long will we use that as an excuse?” 

He had a certain twinkle in his eye as he responded. “Are you familiar with Jean-Jacques Rousseau? The Social Contract?”

“It rings a bell - but no.”

He smiled. “Basically, Rousseau points out that before civilization, man was in essence completely free. But the cost of that freedom was a lack of safety and security. So by forming a civilization, the people agreed to give up certain freedoms and liberties in order to obtain that safety and security,” he finished with a challenging look.

“Alright. But where’s the line?” Ginny questioned. “At what point are liberties being taken for the sake of ensuring those in power stay in power, rather than for the freedom and well being of all?”

Harry appeared thoughtful. “I think it’s the responsibility of Parliament to recognize when certain regulations can be relaxed or altogether eliminated. It’s an elected body - so it should theoretically reflect the will of the people.”

“And what about those in the far reaches of the WEA? Those who don’t feel adequately represented?” she asked hesitantly, not sure if it was quite appropriate to voice the question.

“It’s hard,” Harry admitted. “As counterintuitive as it is, I fundamentally believe that to be truly free, we actually have to give up some freedoms. For example, sure, we could remove Corps presence along the borders, allow people open access to Apparation points and other areas of WEA entry. But then our citizens would no longer have the guarantee of safety. 

“Whereas _with_ such minor inconveniences, people can feel reasonably confident that they are safe. They will feel _free_ to move about their daily lives, without fear.” His voice was passionate.

“I didn’t know you were such a philosopher,” Ginny teased.

Harry laughed, brushing his hand through his hair. “I dabble. I think considering matters in the abstract helps when some of my… _colleagues_ … tend to be persistently unable to find consensus.” He looked up at her, a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“So, it’s how you stay positive? I mean professionally?” she asked quietly. She felt her neck grow red as his gaze stayed on hers.

The corner of his lips turned up slightly. “I think I believe that people as a whole are good, even if individuals themselves are not. I’m _hopeful_ that we’ll be able to find that line you talked about - so in that sense I _am_ optimistic about the future. Even if I get frustrated in the present.”

They were silent for a moment, and Ginny found herself watching Harry out of the corner of her eye. He was rolling up his sleeves and a small bead of sweat was dripping from his brow; the air in the halted elevator was stifling. When he rambled about philosophy he seemed - lighter, at ease. It reminded her of when they danced - seeing him laugh and smile and just be _free_.

“I guess I’ve never thought of freedom quite like that,” Ginny admitted with a slight smile. The pair each stood on their side of the elevator, with the red light blinking above the doors. She felt moisture beneath her beret, thanks to the small enclosed space and poorly circulated air.

“I think it’s been fifteen minutes,” Harry mumbled, cracking his neck and pacing the small length of the elevator.

Ginny looked at her watch and laughed. “Not quite. Its only been eight.”

He scoffed, “How is that possible?” Harry slid down against the wall, his arms dangling against his knees.

Ginny considered for a moment before mimicking his actions on the opposite side of the elevator. “Is this what life’s like for you?” she asked. “Philosophical debates in elevators?”

His eyes shone and he looked at the ceiling and laughed. “I wish!” He shook his head in amusement. “My colleagues don’t have the _patience_ for such digressions. It’s typically just arguing minutiae - how are we going to improve the tax code? How will we solve a trade dispute between France and Sweden? It’s a lot of quid pro quo and trying to find consensus.”

“That sounds exhausting.” Ginny frowned, watching Harry’s demeanor shift almost instantly from the light-hearted philosopher to wary politician.

He shrugged. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

“So that’s why you do it?” She swallowed. In spite of what she _knew_ about Harry Potter, she tended to see him still first and foremost as a politician. And in her limited experience, politicians saw themselves in a class above the rest - always in search of power above all else.

He looked old suddenly, the glint in his eyes showing a wisdom, or perhaps lessons learned, of one triple his age. “Because of what happened to my mother, people have always seen me as some sort of - extraordinary figure. I guess I realized when I was younger, either I could feel bad about it, let her sacrifice be in vain, or I could use her sacrifice to try and make a difference - fight for the world she would have wanted.”

He looked so vulnerable; his eyes darted from her face to the red flashing light until they landed on his hands. She felt the sudden urge to grab his hand, to comfort him, however irrational it was.

She had begun to scoot over, giving in to the need to be closer, when the flashing stopped and she felt the elevator move once more.

_‘Thank you for your patience. The drill is now complete. Have a nice day.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all may have noticed the "Philosophy" tag on this story - there is a general theme of Freedom (and what it means to be free) that underlies this entire story. Sometimes (like in this interlude) it will be more overt - so I hope you all enjoy Harry the Philosopher...
> 
> (And I will be attempting to name every interlude after a Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young song...)
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

_London_   
_October 19, 2006_

It had been a week since Astoria had told Daphne of her engagement, and Daphne had yet to tell Harry about it.

What her father had done, and what Astoria intended to do, was not necessarily illegal so much as it simply flew in the face of everything Harry fought for. She rationalized to herself that nothing positive could come out of telling Harry. As far as the general public was concerned, Astoria was to be shipped off to Germany to marry a wealthy wizard; the only people who knew the truth, that she was really going to Scotland to marry a Death Eater, were Astoria, Daphne, and their father. Anton had coordinated with various WEA security officials to allow Astoria access to an apparition zone. In a week, Astoria would be gone and no one would think anything of it.

Daphne still failed to understand her father in this. If you had to describe Anton Greengrass in one word, it would be _practical_ . If given a second, then perhaps _fastidiously practical_. He didn’t enter into business arrangements without knowing all of the facts and risks. And this was not a business arrangement – this was the marriage of his youngest daughter.

And _this_ was why she needed to tell Harry – because she needed his help to figure out what made her father behave in a way that seemed, at the outset, irrational. 

“Daphne.” She was pulled from her thoughts when the man in question appeared, hanging over her cubicle. Harry flashed a card from his pocket that she immediately recognized. Before falling asleep that fateful night a week ago, Harry had told her excitedly about Ron Weasley – the man who wanted to bring back Quidditch. 

Harry had been quite excited by the prospect of sports and mentioned the ad hoc football games that Ron organized, so she had been supportive and promised her uncommonly nervous fiancée that she would accompany him. “Now?” she asked, looking at her watch that indicated it was only 2pm.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. She saw Ginny roll her eyes, standing at attention 3 meters away. Daphne gave the woman a hesitant smile - she hadn’t been blind to the growing camaraderie between Harry and the Officer. It left her feeling something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Jealousy perhaps – but not truly. She felt as though she was reaching the end of an era, and she was grasping to hold on to what was. 

Because what else could this moment be, if not an ending, or a new beginning, depending on how one looked at it? Her father was up to something - she felt reasonably confident of that. Her sister was leaving, presumably forever unless something drastically changed in their lifetime. And as she watched her best friend sneak glances at his bodyguard when he thought no one was looking - well, she suddenly felt quite lonely. As though the world was spinning and she was just standing there, waiting for someone to push her.

“But it’s 2pm!” she told him, pointing at her watch and shaking herself out of her melancholy.

He rolled his eyes. “Last I checked, I’m _technically_ your boss. Let’s go!” He grabbed her arm and she playfully swatted him, demanding a minute to straighten up her workspace and lock away any confidential documents. Finally, she stood up and power walked to keep up with his bouncing steps, Ginny trailing purposefully behind them.

“Where are we going?” Daphne asked.

“Hyde Park, it’s not far from here.” Harry tugged Daphne forward and out of the parliament building. It was a beautiful Autumn day – a rarity in London where it was neither cold nor rainy. Daphne and Harry walked the few blocks to the park, and if Daphne squinted her eyes just right, she could imagine they were truly happy and carefree. Harry’s excitement was contagious and she smiled for him without much effort, her worries taking a back seat to the moment.

When they reached the pitch, Daphne almost gasped at the sight before her – men and women of all ages strewn about, footballs being kicked back and forth. She felt the inklings of a memory from her childhood, watching boys up in the sky placing a ball through a hoop. She instinctively placed a hand over her heart, moved by the scene before her, how if you squinted just right it seemed _normal_.

She gripped Harry’s elbow. “Harry this is…” she trailed off.

“Incredible,” he accurately described. He gave her a smile and, seeing eyes looking their way, a gentle kiss on her forehead before transfiguring his outfit into something more appropriate and running towards a red headed man in the middle of the field. Daphne and Ginny migrated to where a group of spectators had formed, though Ginny was eyeing the entire pitch warily.

“Is something wrong?” Daphne frowned.

“Oh no,” Ginny clarified, giving her a tight smile. “It’s just – the pitch is very exposed.”

“You don’t think he would be targeted _here_?” Daphne asked.

Ginny shrugged. “I try to always be on alert – _‘Constant vigilance’,_ ” she emphasized.

Daphne sat on a blanket she had transfigured from a handkerchief while Ginny paced nearby, occasionally checking out various entrances and exits and casting security spells so she would be alerted in case of an intruder. Once Ginny seemed satisfied the pitch was as secure as could be, she returned to sit with Daphne. “So,” Ginny broke the silence, “is he any good?” She nodded towards Harry.

Daphne raised her eyebrows as she considered this. “He would play here and there in secondary school. No formal school sports teams were around back then, but you know boys – they can’t help themselves.” She shrugged. “I honestly don’t recall if he was particularly good or not. Just that he loved it.” Daphne smiled softly and Ginny nodded.

Eventually, the games were set up, and Harry was wearing a purple jersey playing on the field closest to them. Ginny thought Daphne’s assessment was spot on – he clearly wasn’t the best but his smile was contagious. 

“Ginny!” shouted a man coming from the pitch. Daphne noticed the redhead from earlier walk up to them, and she realized this must be the Ron Weasley that Harry told her about.

“Ron,” Ginny beckoned for her brother to join them. Ron sat off to the side of the blanket, attempting to discreetly check out Daphne. “This is Daphne Greengrass – Harry’s fiancée.” Ginny introduced them.

Daphne politely held her hand out and smiled. “So you’re the infamous Ron Weasley,” she said as they shook hands.

“Infamous?” Ron questioned, looking towards Ginny who merely shrugged.

“Yes. Harry wouldn’t stop talking about you and your sports. He thinks you're brilliant,” Daphne told him. Ron’s mouth hung upon and he sat speechless, staring at the woman. Daphne took a moment to analyze the man, now up close. Beyond his red hair he had a stocky build with a kind face that seemed perpetually in a playful smile. With the exception of his hair color, Ron didn’t seem to share any characteristics with his tall and lanky brother Percy.

“You trying to catch flies?” Ginny smirked. Ron immediately closed his mouth and glared at his sister.

“So Ron, Harry tells me your dream is to bring back Quidditch.” Daphne interrupted the sibling spat.

Ron’s face lit up. “Yeah – the current sporting regulations ban the use of brooms for recreational use. I’m hoping to lobby to make an exception.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Daphne asked, genuinely curious. The ban on recreational flying was in direct response to isolationist terrorist activities in the early days of the WEA. 

“Everything is dangerous,” Ron pointed out. “The _Event_ was 17 years ago, and the WEA was formed 15 years ago. I understand why such prohibitions were enacted then – we were fighting for _bare survival_. But now – I think we need to live.”

“You know we face a threat now potentially even graver than the one 17 years ago,” Daphne pointed out.

“The birth rate?” Ron clarified. Daphne nodded. “Well, sure, but what can I do about it? And what’s a prohibition on broomsticks going to do about it?” he pointed out.

“It’s not about what _we_ can do about it – it’s what’s going to happen in five to ten years if there are still no births. What happens when the oldest generation far outnumbers the youngest? Who will work?” Daphne pointed out.

“So what – we put our lives on hold? Wait until one problem is resolved before we let ourselves as a society have a chance to truly live?” Ron argued. Daphne thought of her own life of public service – of the sacrifices she and Harry made for the so-called betterment of mankind.

“We all have to sacrifice for a better future,” Daphne replied softly.

“Ah – but I think we’re sacrificing the wrong things,” Ron pointed out. “We have to be allowed to really live – to actually _enjoy_ life, or else why are we even fighting for a better future?” He nodded towards the game. “You see all of them out there playing? Do you think this 90 minutes of happiness is going to make them stagnant and lazy? Are they going to stop working and innovating because they had the opportunity to play football for a lazy afternoon? No. I think when you have something to fight for, you work _harder_. 

“A lot of people are still wary of the WEA and the C-o-r-p-s,” Ron whispered, earning a stuck-out tongue from Ginny, “and why shouldn’t they be? Sure – we may be safe, but is safety really everything?”

“But it’s easy to say that - in _London_ with our defensive infrastructure. In most cities, gatherings like this are just asking for a terrorist attack. What happens when we bring sports back, only to watch it turn to tragedy?” Daphne pointed out.

Ron gave a soft smile. “In a way, aren’t we just capitulating _to_ the terrorists and fundamentalists by letting them dictate how we live our lives? I’m not saying we should be _stupid_ \- but I think of the London Blitz in World War II. London _refused_ to stop - the people simply _adapted_. Perhaps if we showed the terrorists that we aren’t going to let them dictate our lives, then they would lose their power.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Daphne said, nodding in compliment.

“Well – I always enjoy a lively debate with an intelligent woman.” Ron winked playfully at Daphne. He stood up, gave Ginny a mocking salute and ran off to deal with a mishap on the other side of the pitch.

“He’s a bit of an idealist,” Ginny stated, breaking the silence.

“No – I think he just sees the world as it could be and not as it is,” Daphne suggested thoughtfully. “But in a world like this, perhaps that’s what we must do if we ever hope to get there.”

Ginny looked surprised. “Did he actually convince you?”

Daphne looked thoughtful and took a moment before responding. “I’m so used to dealing with politicians and intellectuals with data and vote counts and theoreticals. It’s... refreshing to hear from someone who has purer motivations,” she pointed out.

“Did you ever play Quidditch?” Ginny asked, curious if she had personal feelings on the matter.

Daphne smiled. “I never played – but I have memories from before the _Event_ of sitting with my friend Pansy and making fun of the boys playing in someone’s backyard. How about you?”

Ginny shook her head. “I was barely flying before the _Event,_ but I used to watch my brothers play; I guess that’s the advantage of a big family.” She chuckled at a memory.

“Harry was apparently a natural flyer. His dad was an incredible Quidditch player at Hogwarts – supposedly, were it not for the war with Voldemort, his dad would have gone pro,” Daphne mentioned.

Ginny looked surprised, “Really? From what I’ve heard of Harry’s dad, I would assume he was too practical for that sort of thing.”

Daphne blinked and looked at the officer in a very calculated manner before replying, “Harry told you about his dad?”

Ginny’s neck turned red. “The uh, the night I took Harry to my brothers’ club. He told me a bit about what was bothering him.” She stopped, but Daphne gave her a look, urging her to continue. “He just mentioned his dad was always a politician and never just a dad.”

Daphne gave a slight smile, blinking away the odd feeling in her stomach that came over her, before swallowing purposefully. “I don’t believe Harry’s dad was always like that. I think that’s why it upsets Harry so much,” she explained to Ginny who nodded awkwardly.

* * *

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Ginny’s wand gave a slight ping, and she was glad for the excuse to get up and check one of the sensors on a remote entrance to the pitch. As she passed Harry on the field, she did her best to avoid him, but he was being subbed in just as she passed.

“Gin.” He jogged up to her; sweat dripped from his hair but an almost childlike smile graced his face. She felt blood rush to her cheeks at the sight of him, an errant memory of his arms around her from that night a week ago. She did her best to shake the thoughts from her mind.

“Harry,” she nodded professionally. The conversation with Daphne was like a bucket of ice water being poured over her head. She was here to _protect_ Harry – not to be his friend or anything else. Since she took him to Weasleys, it felt like he took every possible opportunity to talk with her, to be _near_ her. And the more time she spent with him, the more she longed for it - the chance to hear his laugh and listen to his strange philosophical ramblings.

But it wasn’t right. Not only because of her job, but because he had a fiancee - whom Ginny quite liked and almost considered a friend.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, his head cocked to the left as they walked the length of the pitch.

“ _I’m_ going to check on a sensor that went off – I assume it was a fox, or someone coming in late, but better safe than sorry,” she explained as clinically as possible. “Shouldn’t you be playing?”

“Oh – I’ve been playing non-stop – I’m on the sidelines for at least ten minutes.” He smiled and walked with her. “Do you play football?”

Ginny nodded. “Sure – can’t really help playing sports when you’re a Weasley.” She shrugged.

He nodded. “Is everything OK?”

Ginny sighed, because this was exactly the problem. Harry was kind, inquisitive, and aware. She had never met anyone like him, and they had _chemistry_. But she needed to push those feelings down. Far, far down.

“No Harry,” Ginny sighed. “It’s just stressful being in such an open position.” She pointed to the pitch around them.

“Oh.” Harry looked concerned for a moment. “Did you want to go? I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to ask if it was safe before dragging you and Daph here.”

“No.” Ginny shook her head. “Sorry – I didn’t mean it’s a problem. Just that it’s my job. Please – go back to your game and ignore me.”

He chuckled, “You’re hard to ignore, Officer.” 

Ginny frowned, but Harry seemed oblivious to her inner turmoil, simply flashing her a disarming smile and a brief salute.

When she finally reached the gate, she discovered it was indeed a fox wandering about, and turned off the alarm before returning to the pitch.

Half-way back, Ron beckoned her to where he was keeping an eye on the backfield. “So Ginny.”

“So Ron,” she mimicked.

“Look – I’m not sure what’s going on with Harry Potter – but be careful,” he told her, his eyes sincere.

She looked confused and responded, “I don’t think the threat is that substantial – there has been no indication of any additional threats on his life.”

Ron rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Gin. That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

She tried to find the words to refute him but he stopped her. “Look – I’ve known you a long time. But they’re politicians, they’re a different breed than us.”

“I know that. And thank you.” She left before he could provide further commentary – now wondering just how obvious her infatuation was and more determined than ever to be strictly and utterly professional moving forward.

* * *

“We got him.” Fox busted into his and Robards’ shared office.

“We did?” Robards looked surprised.

“Yup. Just heard from French authorities – Michel Pierre was spotted and apprehended trying to illegally enter an apparition zone.” Fox shrugged. “They’re moving him here; it’s going to take a few days.” Pierre was the leader of the French fundamentalist group who had previously used similar explosives as the ones used in the bombing of Harry Potter’s office. They hadn’t _actually_ expected to find him so easily though.

“So – let me get this straight.” Robards’ forehead crinkled. “This man, a non-magical, who has eluded French authorities for _years._ gets caught breaking into an _apparition_ zone – one of the most secure locations in the WEA?”

“Yup,” Fox confirmed, his tone equally skeptical.

“Why on earth would he even _want_ to go to an apparition zone?” Robards questioned.

“Apparently he was planning a bit of sabotage.” 

“This is very convenient,” Robards pointed out.

“Well, we’ll have the opportunity to question him when he gets here.” Fox smiled.

“And how long will that take?”

“Three to seven days.” 

Robards shook his head. “OK. Well, ignoring Pierre’s extremely convenient apprehension, any other good news? Have we been able to get cell tower records?”

Fox nodded and grabbed something from his desk. “Yes – came in this morning but I haven’t had a chance to go through them.” He tossed half the papers over to Robards and the pair quietly reviewed the data.

“What time was the bombing again?” Robards asked.

“14:45” Fox confirmed.

“Exactly?” Robards asked.

Fox looked at another paper and clarified, “14:44:23.”

“We have a call that came in at 14:44:05.” Robards pointed out.

Fox thought for a moment. “A big vote just occurred – I would assume there would be a lot of calls around that time,” he finished with a shrug.

Robards looked again and stood up, walking the sheet to the other desk. “There were – but they were all outgoing. There was only _one_ incoming call within five minutes of the bomb going off.”

“OK.” Fox put on his glasses and typed the number into the database. “Sorry – this is taking a while.”

Robards nodded and watched, waiting until a match appeared.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Fox shook his head, looking at the screen.

“I guess we’ll finally have a chat with Daphne Greengrass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music that is played in this chapter: 1. The album "Rubber Soul" (The Beatles), specifically the song "In My Life"; 2. _Led Zeppelin II_ (album) and; 3. "I Need You" by America

_50 km west of Aberdeen_   
_October 21, 2006_

“This is useless!” Hermione exclaimed, frustrated and nursing a massive headache.

“It’s not useless.” Draco argued.

It had been a week since Hermione started attempting to recover her memory. Three days ago, she had remembered reading _Little Women_ on the drive to the camp site with her parents. Since then, they had not made progress, but her sessions now ended with mind-numbing headaches. 

“I’m starting to think I’m not a witch,” she mumbled, massaging her temples.

Draco disagreed. “The headaches are a good sign! They mean we’re onto something!”

“How do you suppose?” Hermione asked, frustrated.

“I assume it’s the spell fighting back,” Draco suggested.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She found her willingness to accept Draco’s ‘theories’ and ‘assumptions’ had been decreasing in direct correlation with their continued lack of progress. 

“Let’s stop for the day,” she said in a tone that brooked no debate. They had fallen into a routine – she worked on her experiments while he read in the morning, and then after lunch they worked on her memories. They had only been working for an hour this time before she called it quits.

She grabbed an aspirin and sat down, eyes closed and attempting to consider the facts again. There was no empirical data suggesting she was a witch. She had tested her blood, and there was no indication she currently was or ever had been magical. If she had the resources, she would have sought a bone marrow biopsy. While the tests she was able to perform didn’t conclusively confirm nor deny she was a witch, it constantly nagged at her nonetheless. 

However, she had been able to successfully recollect a number of childhood memories. Beyond the morning of the car accident, she now remembered a few other benign moments, the common threads of which seemed to be her stuffed Otter, Freckles. She didn’t doubt the authenticity of the memories. 

Because Draco had been able to effectively help her recover her lost memories, and given the existence of a mysterious scar on her face, she found herself willing to entertain his suggestion that she was a witch whose powers had been removed. For the time being at least.

When she wasn’t working on her experiments, which she refused to give up, or her lost memories, she was mulling over the possible reasons for her assignment. Assuming she was a witch and her powers had been removed, there were a few options. It was possible the Corps discovered proximity to her caused magicals to lose their powers, panicked, and sent her to the Uninhabitable Zone.

But that didn’t make sense to her! After all, if it was something so innocent, wouldn’t they just _tell_ her? Sure, she would have questions, but she would be willing to comply with any tests or other requirements asked of her. And everything on her spotless service record would indicate this.

Given this, she had considered another theory - that someone higher up in the Corps chain of command was aware of why she impacted others’ magic but had decided not to tell her. Instead, they offered her what she would view as the ultimate research opportunity, while also effectively quarantining her in the uninhabitable zone.

If this was the case, the question still remained: was the Corps itself responsible for her condition? Of course, this begged the question of _when_ her condition started. Was it related to the car crash, like Draco suspected? This at least suggested that the Corps as an institution was not responsible for her current predicament, leading her to what she considered her most ‘optimistic’ theory – that a small group of individuals were responsible for whatever happened to her magic.

If this was not the case, if the Corps was somehow responsible for her condition and ensured she remained ignorant throughout her enlistment, it suggested a dark underbelly to an incredibly powerful organization responsible for the protection of the entire WEA.

Regardless of the answer, she had decided she would not apprise the Corps of her suspicions. She continued to report in to her Captain as required, keeping him informed of Draco’s situation as clinically as possible and otherwise attempting to behave as though nothing had changed.

She did worry that one of the Corps members involved in her ‘situation’ had been made aware of Draco’s presence and would intervene in some way, but thus far she had no reason to believe this was the case. Perhaps the wizards assumed since the Death Eater was powerless, there wouldn’t be an issue? Or maybe they were simply waiting - not willing to sound the alarm. 

And finally, the question that kept her up at night: _why_? Why, if she were a witch, would her powers and memories have been removed? What could possibly have happened to justify such a thing?

“Is your head feeling any better?” Draco asked.

Hermione blinked, coming out of her thoughts. “Yes.” She cracked her neck left to right. She looked to the wizard, still an enigma for all she tried to understand him. Despite his bluster and abhorrent prejudice, there were moments when he showed kindness, when she felt he was trying to help her not for any personal gain but for _her._

Of course, there were also times when he refused to look her in the eye, when she was sure he was holding back some truth or detail. “Can I ask you something?” 

He looked startled. “I guess.” 

“What was it like?” Hermione asked.

“What was what like?”

“Life with the Death Eaters,” she clarified.

“I mean, what’s anyone’s life like? We had school, I had friends, I eventually became a soldier, I left.” He shrugged.

She shook her head. “No – like, the little things. I had that stuffed Otter that I took everywhere and I love Star Wars. What did you do for fun?”

Draco looked reluctant to answer so she prodded him. “I’m not asking you to reveal state secrets. Just – I’m curious is all.”

He nodded and furrowed his brows before responding. “My very best friend Theo and I used to explore Hogwarts – like endlessly. Hogwarts is brilliant – full of secret passageways and some of the greatest wizarding portraits known. When we were younger, we would play hide and seek. It was – incredible to have the run of the place. I’m sure it was impressive when it was an actual school, but as two kids, the empty castle was like living a story.” Draco smiled fondly at the memory.

“What else?” Hermione asked, leaning in and intrigued.

“Hmm,” he mumbled, a slight smirk playing on his features, “did I ever tell you I have a sweet tooth?”

“What?!” she exclaimed. “No!” For some reason she found the information entirely incongruous with the serious Draco Malfoy she had come to know. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “As a child, my father always used sweets as a bribe. I was a bit spoiled. I remember when my father told me we were moving to Hogsmeade, I was so excited because of the sweets shop there. I didn’t realize that the shop would no longer be there. But my friend Goyle, his mum is a brilliant potioneer, and she’d make me these chocolates just like the shop used to. Eventually, as we evolved to become self-sufficient, she opened her own shop - but I remember in those first few years, when there was still so much fear and uncertainty, her chocolates made me think everything was going to be okay.”

Hermione considered this and gave a small smile. “Thank you.”

“So, have I passed?” he asked, his tone flat.

“Sorry?” she sputtered in response to his sudden shift.

“Did I pass whatever test this was?” Draco drawled once again.

“It wasn’t a test,” she bit back.

“Then what was it?” 

“I just want to get to know you!” Hermione defended.

“Oh really?” 

“Yes!”

“Why?” 

“Ugh.” Her arms flew in the air in exasperation. “I don’t know! You confuse me sometimes. I’m a naturally curious person. Is that okay? Do I have to have a reason to make civil conversation?”

“Well then, what about you?” Draco asked.

“You’ve received a front row seat to all my memories!” she cried out.

“No – not those. _After_ the _Event_. What then? What did you do for fun when the world was ending?” he asked, his words mocking but challenging.

She glared at him but thought about it nonetheless. “Well, I didn’t really have friends growing up. But I did have books,” she told him.

“That’s pathetic, Granger.” 

She narrowed her eyes in response. “Well, I was studious. And kids didn’t like me.” She paused. “But I did love music. After the crash, when I moved in with the Dursleys, I found a box of records that belonged to my parents. When the Dursleys left me alone, I would sit in the living room and just play the records and imagine a different world.” She looked him in the eye, satisfied his shit eating grin had dissipated.

“What’s a record?” Draco asked.

“It’s a – device used to play music,” Hermione explained.

“Like a – radio?” he asked, confused.

“Do you all have music?” Hermione asked, eyes wide.

“Of course we have music!” Draco claimed.

“Okay – so do you _listen_ to music?” Hermione clarified.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked.

“Like, if you’re having a bad day or maybe you got dumped, do you sit in your room with your favorite song on repeat? Or -” she paused, “or when you hear a really good song and it reminds you of the first time you heard it and you can actually _feel_ the way you felt that time.”

Draco looked at her like she had grown a second head. “No.” He then elaborated slightly. “I mean, the only times I can recall listening to music are at a wedding, or a dinner party or cotillion,” he explained. 

Hermione looked oddly excited, “I’ll be right back.” She jogged to her room and returned minutes later carrying a large box and some square envelopes. She plugged in the box and turned her attention back towards Draco. “So this,” she pointed towards the box, “is a record player, it plays music.”

He squinted his eyes, looking bored. She gave him a pleading look and he relented, nodding in understanding. “And these,” she now pointed to the envelopes, “are records. Typically, each one will hold a series of songs written by one artist. There have been – hundreds of thousands of records made in all sorts of genres – rock, disco, pop.” 

“Would I be correct to assume records are a muggle Invention?” Draco clarified.

“Well, yes,” Hermione noted, “though since the _Event,_ many witches and wizards have taken up singing and otherwise enjoy music. Unfortunately, the music industry still hasn’t fully recovered, so we’re more or less stuck with whatever music was produced before 1989.” Hermione shrugged.

Draco watched as she took one of the albums out of its jacket and placed it on the record player - _Rubber Soul_ . There was static, and then music and _singing_ . He looked at the spinning record curiously, but then shifted his gaze to watch Hermione. She let the song go on for a moment and then moved the tonearm over, completely focused on her task. A new song started - “In My Life” _-_ and she breathed out, smiling. She sat back on her chair and closed her eyes, her face a mask of serenity.

It was a version of Hermione he had never seen before. He was most familiar with the studious scientist and the know-it-all swot. He had more recently realized there was another side of her – vulnerable, insecure, a victim to her own need for order in a chaotic world. Now though, he saw something he couldn’t necessarily reconcile with the rest of her. As she sat and swayed lightly to the music, a single tear streamed down her cheek, and he saw for the first time that she was a _woman_ , more than - or completely separate from - being a witch or a Muggle.

As if reading his thoughts, she grew instantly self-conscious, swiping the solitary tear away and shaking herself out of her reverie. She looked at Draco, sitting up straight and asked, “So? What did you think?”

He wasn’t sure _what_ to say. He didn’t really have any context. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever heard before, though he did find himself curious to hear more. “It was interesting.”

She looked disappointed. “Just – interesting?” 

He shrugged. “It was – unlike anything I’ve ever heard. I guess in a way it was startling? Will you play something else?”

She nodded, removing the disc and putting in another - _Led Zepplin II_. She let the music play from the start this time and seemed more focused on watching Draco’s response to the music than necessarily enjoying it herself. She frowned as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s just,” he started, not sure what to say. “How do you dance to this?”

She laughed. “What?”

He narrowed his eyes at her but still clarified, “I just – isn’t the point of music having something to dance to?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment before she responded. “I guess in my world, dancing is something you do when the music moves you to do so.” And before he knew it, she was digging back through her albums. She had another disc on the player and, satisfied the song she wanted was playing - “I Need You” by America, she turned to Draco. “Is this better?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Well,” she said, grabbing his hand, “let’s find out.” Before he realized what was happening, she was dragging him off the couch and onto the small bit of open floor space between the coffee table and the TV. He wasn’t sure what she expected of him, and he was frankly unnerved by the whole situation.

“Relax,” she said, placing his right hand on her left hip and holding his left hand with her right. She led them around their small space, right in time with the music. As the dance continued, Draco found himself relaxing and letting himself enjoy it. 

“When did you learn to dance?” he asked.

“Hmm,” she considered and gave a playful smile, “at some point in secondary I imagine. I may not have had much in the way of friends, but there were always boys willing to dance.”

At one point, she broke their pattern and used his arm to swing herself around, before returning to her previous stance with a smirk. His smile in response was genuine, and they continued their rather clumsy dance. Towards the end of the song, Hermione started to simply sway back and forth against Draco, his sleeves rolled up and hands holding her waist. 

“This song,” she started, “it was my parent’s first dance at their wedding. I don’t recall the wedding of course, but they placed a post-it note on the album, almost carelessly. Just ‘first dance,’ like they were worried they would grow old and senile and forget.

“Sometimes, when I think about that car ride and that fateful camping trip, I try and imagine a different life, one where there was no car crash. I imagine my parents telling me to go to sleep while they stayed outside and played this on a portable boombox and swayed under the moonlight. And I imagine the young version of me, watching them from the tent and appreciating them for all they were.” 

He saw tears in her eyes, but she was smiling through them, moved by the _what if._ As they swayed, with Hermione caught up in a world that would never be, the record player came to a stop. Jolted, they both stepped away from each other and at that moment, Hermione’s mind in the forest with her parents, she saw Draco’s Dark Mark.

And she _remembered_.

“Hermione?” She heard Draco’s voice calling to her but it was like she was underwater. She saw him standing there – his face transforming from amused to skeptical to worried. But to her, he was like a two dimensional figure in the television, something she could see but not interact with.

She was consumed in an impossible memory. Ten year old her wore yellow footie pajamas with that pink cardigan on top, the autumn air making for a cool evening. She was peeking out of her tent, spying on her parents like any self-respecting ten-year-old would when they heard voices.

But what she saw didn’t make sense. There were a man and a woman, holding wands, the woman’s exposed forearm bearing the same mark Draco’s did. She saw her parents, on the ground in utter agony. The memory was silent but she could see the screams on their faces. And she felt herself _scream._

_Crack!_ All around the cabin, glass shattered. The record snapped in half and the clay bowls holding their macaroni and cheese fell to pieces. She screamed as her memory self did – a torrent of emotions carrying her.

“HERMIONE!” She recognized the voice and in some way, knew it was relevant, knew she should take some action. But her memory self and her current self couldn’t decide. _Threat_ she thought, and unconsciously a piece of glass came rushing out of the kitchen and landed at the other person’s throat.

“Hermione... please,” Draco pleaded, and only then did Hermione open her eyes and witness the awesome destruction she had caused. She looked into Draco’s eyes, seeing genuine pleading in them, and found herself once again firmly in the present. Her breathing returned to normal and the glass piece dropped from Draco’s neck. He immediately grabbed at his throat before turning to Hermione, hands held up. “Hermione?”

“I remembered something, Draco,” she whispered.

“Oh?” he asked, unsure what to say, for the first time truly afraid.

“I don’t think my parents died in a car accident.” She sounded numb. “It looks like your theory was right. It seems I’m a witch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

_London_   
_October 24, 2006_

“The time is 09:30. Interview being conducted by Gawain Robards and Lester Fox in Interview Room B. Subject, Daphne Greengrass, has elected to have counsel present.” Robards spoke into the recording device, while Fox sent Daphne a reassuring smile.

The Greengrass family solicitor, Amelia Bones, whispered something to her client before turning to face the investigators. The older witch sat poised and confident. Robards resisted rolling his eyes – it had taken _five days_ to find a time that was _amenable_ to Ms. Greengrass to complete this interview.

“Ms. Greengrass,” Fox started, “thank you very much for making time to speak with us today. As you can guess, we have some questions for you related to the attempt on Harry Potter’s life.”

Daphne nodded and smiled back. “Of course. I’m as anxious as you to see whomever did this brought to justice.” _A politician through and through,_ Robards thought.

“We’ll get right to it then, shall we?” Fox shuffled a few papers on his desk and started, “Can you confirm you were at the Parliament Meeting House on October 8th, 2006?” he asked.

“Yes,” Daphne confirmed.

“And can you explain why you were at the Meeting House?”

“I serve as Harry Potter’s Chief Policy Advisor – I was at the house for the bill speaking and vote,” she explained succinctly. 

“Can you confirm where you were when the bombing occurred?” Fox continued to question, his voice calm.

Daphne paused, turning to her solicitor who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. “I was in the hall outside of Harry Potter’s office.”

“That is aligned with the reports from the officers on the scene.” Fox nodded with an appreciative smile. “Our records show that you received a phone call just before the bomb went off. Can you confirm this?”

Daphne swallowed and blinked, her face betraying panic for only a moment before she smiled tightly and answered. “Yes, my sister Astoria called me. She inadvertently saved my life,” she explained.

“Of course.” Fox nodded sagely. “Would you please confirm what you discussed on the phone?”

“She indicated she wanted to speak. But before we had a chance to discuss anything, the bomb went off.”

“Yes, our records indicate your phone call was only 45 seconds.” Fox gave her an approving smile before continuing, “Were you ever able to learn what your sister wanted to speak with you about?”

Daphne’s eyes grew wide for a moment before she turned to her solicitor, who spoke on her behalf. “I don’t see how a conversation between two sisters is relevant to your investigation.”

“I’m sorry,” Fox sent a regretful smile in Daphne’s direction, “but without _knowing_ what Astoria called to speak with you about, we can’t assess its relevance to the case at hand. The fact is that you received a phone call, and as a result were not in Harry Potter’s office when a bomb went off.”

“It was a coincidence,” Daphne argued.

Fox put his hands up slightly. “It may well have been. But without exploring further, we cannot be certain of that. If you would indulge us please, we can cross our T’s and dot our I’s and let you be on your way.”

Daphne turned to her solicitor, and the pair had a rushed whispered conversation before Daphne responded. “I later learned Astoria wanted to discuss her engagement with me.” Daphne held her head high and looked Fox directly in the eye.

Fox’s brows furrowed momentarily in confusion. “OK – is there anything notable about her engagement?”

“Why? Are you looking to start selling gossip magazines?” Daphne sniped before taking a deep breath. “My apologies, I didn't mean to be rude.”

“What I think my client is trying to ask,” Amelia Bones began, “is why you need to know the specifics? Obviously, a young woman’s engagement holds no bearing to the attempted murder of a WEA representative.”

“I understand this must be very stressful,” Fox nodded towards Daphne, “but I’ve found that you never quite know what is going to be relevant or hold bearing in a case. That’s why we try to uncover as much detail as possible. You may not realize it, but a small thing that you think is irrelevant could be critical in determining _who_ tried to kill your fiancé.” 

Daphne was torn – she really _did_ want whomever tried to kill Harry to be brought to justice, but she couldn’t see how Astoria’s secret engagement to a Death Eater was relevant or could possibly help their investigation. “My father has arranged a marriage for her with a wizard in Germany. She was – saddened by the prospect of being so far away.” 

“Hmm. That’s understandable,” Fox stated conversationally, jotting a quick note on his pad. “Are you aware if Astoria had been asked to call you and tell you of this news?”

Daphne shook her head, eyes narrowed slightly. “No. She had just been told of the arrangement by our father when she called. She mentioned later he had explicitly forbidden her from calling me.”

“Ah.” Fox smiled and placed his notes on top of one another before turning to Robards.

“Ms. Greengrass,” Robards stated, “thank you again for your cooperation. That is all we need at this time.”

“Of course – please do call Ms. Bones if you need anything further,” Daphne told them with a tight smile before filing out, the clack of her heels diminishing to a small echo.

“She was lying.” Fox turned to Robards, pointing to a few notes on his pad.

“About what?” Robards questioned.

“I’m not sure what precisely – but she was quite defensive. She seemed strangely uncomfortable discussing her sister’s engagement - which seems like it should be a rather innocuous topic,” Fox pointed out.

“I don’t think she’s hiding anything related to the bombing though,” Robards commented.

Fox nodded. “I don’t think she is intentionally – but I’m worried she may simply be a pawn in all of this.”

A junior detective entered, handing a paper to Robards. 

_Michel Pierre in holding cell 2._

He read it and handed it to Fox before turning back to the newcomer. “Give us five minutes, then bring him in,” Robards told the junior detective, who nodded and hurried out.

“When it rains it pours,” commented Fox. “I’m surprised they got him here from France this quickly.”

Robards shrugged. “How do you want to handle this one?” 

“He’s pretty anti-wizard, so perhaps you should start. Throw him off balance.”

The pair rearranged their papers and stood as Michel Pierre was brought in for questioning. Unlike Daphne, he had neither counsel nor freedom of movement. The man walked in, hands cuffed and wearing the lime green jumpsuit indicative of a prisoner. His dark brown hair was greasy and unkempt, dangling against his chin. His face, prematurely aged with large and unnaturally curious eyes, gave off the appearance of a haunted man. Pierre was thin – dangerously so, enhancing his overall appearance of insanity. 

Robards’ first thought upon seeing the man was disbelief that he could possibly mastermind a successful bombing in one of the WEA’s most secure facilities. He watched as Pierre was forced by the two Corps sergeants into the chair previously occupied by Daphne Greengrass.

Once the sergeants left, Robards replaced the tape in the recorder and began. “The time is 11:03. Interrogation being conducted by Gawain Robards and Lester Fox in Interview Room B. Subject is Michel Pierre. No counsel present.”

“Mr. Pierre,” Robards started, purposefully rolling up his right sleeve to reveal his wand secured in its holster. Pierre hissed. “We would like to question you in regards to our investigation into the recent bombing of the WEA Parliament Meeting House. Our chemical analysis of the bomb shows the composition to be similar to that of multiple bombs your group has used in terrorist attacks in France.”

Pierre continued to stare at Robards’ wand, eyes wide and mumbling incoherently under his breath. “Mr. Pierre,” Robards attempted to get his attention, “you are standing accused of eight acts of terrorism in the WEA. If you cooperate in this matter, it will be taken into consideration in your sentencing.”.

“I will _not_ speak to a wizard,” Pierre stated in a thick French accent.

Robards and Fox looked at one another, unsurprised. Robards gave his partner a brief nod and Fox began, “Were you responsible for the bombing at the WEA Parliament House on October 8, 2006?” he asked.

“Yes,” Pierre responded. Fox and Robards looked momentarily surprised.

“Just to clarify, you are taking responsibility for the bombing?” Fox repeated.

“Yes,” Pierre stated, looking directly at Fox.

“Can you tell us who the intended target was?” 

“Representative Harry Potter,” he told them outright.

“And can you tell us how you were able to get an explosive into Mr. Potter’s office?”

“One of my compatriots infiltrated ze cleaning staff. Zey were able to bring the individual components in over a two month period,” Pierre confirmed.

Fox blinked, fumbling his notes. They had not expected the man to cooperate, let alone answer each question so helpfully. “Can you give us the name of your – compatriot?”

“Yes – Annika Howard,” he stated. Fox looked at Robards who, after digging up a staff list, nodded his head to confirm Annika was indeed a member of the cleaning staff.

“Can you tell us _why_ you attempted to kill Harry Potter?” Fox asked.

“He forces us to live with ze freaks,” Pierre spat.

“Did your organization work with any others in the planning or execution of the bombing?” Fox asked.

“No,” Pierre told him.

Fox blinked and turned to Robards who simply shrugged. “Is there anything else you would like to tell us about the bombing?” Fox concluded, because, _why not?_

“No. My group eez responsible. My only regret eez zat Harry Potter is still alive,” he snarled.

Fox nodded his head and swallowed. “Thank you for your cooperation.” He nodded towards the mirror on the far side of the room, indicating to the sergeants on the other side he was done. 

Once Pierre was out of the room, Fox and Robards gathered their notes and headed back to their office one floor down. “That was way too easy,” Robards commented first.

“Are we sure he wasn’t under any influence?” Fox asked.

Robards nodded. “Corps protocol would require him to undergo a head exam prior to interrogation. I’ll double check the records but for whatever reason it seems he just – confessed.”

“Do you believe him though?” Fox asked.

Robards shrugged. “I believe he told a part truth – based on his knowledge of the cleaning person, I assume he was involved. I just find his motive to be somewhat lacking.” He paused before adding, “The problem is we have yet to find sufficient proof of anyone else’s involvement. I’d like to have another go at him with veritaserum.” 

Fox nodded. “I can start the paperwork while you brief the Chief.”

* * *

“So you’ve solved it?” Chief Detective Hargraves asked.

Robards looked at the man dubiously. Hargraves was a non-magical – he had a reputation from _before_ the _Event_ as being some no-nonsense detective, but as far as Robards was concerned, he was just another politician. “Well sir, while we have a confession from the French terrorist, it seemed almost – too easy. We would like to investigate further before concluding the investigation.”

“Robards,” Hargraves drawled, his voice patronizing, “you all complain when they don’t confess and now when they do, you don’t believe them?”

“Well,” Robards started, “Pierre’s motives are unclear. I believe there could be other parties at play.”

“Look,” Hargraves’ face went from amused to serious almost instantly, “we have a confession – it’s been about three weeks since the attempt on Representative Potter’s life. I have a Minister of Justice and the Corps Major Generals on my ass. Unless you can give me a _tangible_ reason to believe that there are others involved, perhaps some piece of evidence you have not yet shared, I have no choice but to accept this confession.” 

Robards exhaled, feeling properly reprimanded but still frustrated. “There is still the matter of the Greengrass girl,” he reminded his superior.

Hargraves raised his hands in frustration. “You yourself admitted there was nothing to imply the phone call was more than an incredibly timely coincidence!” The man lowered his hands calmly to the desk. “Look, I know you and Fox are good at your jobs – it’s why you were selected for this assignment; but please, _take the victory_.” Robards knew he wasn’t really asking.

“Of course sir. We will close out the case and alert the Corps,” Robards confirmed and stood up.

Hargraves smiled. “Thank you Robards. And good work on this case.” He stretched out to shake the Auror’s hand. “I’ll make sure the media knows just how instrumental you were to solving this one.”

When Robards finally made it down to his office, Fox had already updated their white board to include the information learned in that morning’s interviews. “What did Hargraves think?” Fox asked.

“He said ‘Good job,’ and it’s over,” Robards sniped before sitting roughly in his chair.

Fox paused and turned. “But it was _way_ too easy – surely he sees that?”

Robards shrugged. “The man’s a politician. He’s going to the media now – I need to tell the Corps liaison that the case is closed.”

Fox looked uneasy. “But there’s no way…”

Robards held his hand up. “I’ve dealt with politicians my whole life. We continue to work the case – off the books. But fighting now will only get us in trouble.”

* * *

“Yes, I understand.” Ginny spoke into her phone before hanging up. _It’s for the best,_ she thought as she knocked on Harry’s temporary office door.

“Come in!” Harry shouted.

“I’ve come with good news,” Ginny told him as she entered, her body stiff and face blank.

“What is it?” Harry frowned, recognizing Ginny’s discomfort, walking around his desk to approach the witch. 

“They’ve identified who was responsible for the bombing.” Ginny explained, “It was a non-magical French terrorist group. The leader was apprehended and confessed to everything.”

Harry looked at her, nodding dumbly. It all felt rather anticlimactic. 

“So,” Ginny continued, “I’ve been called in for re-assignment. You are officially free from Corps security.” She nodded and turned around.

“Wait,” Harry grabbed her wrist. His mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally began, “I just – maybe you should come by for dinner tonight? Daphne will want to say goodbye.”

Harry’s hand on her wrist caused Ginny to lose her nerve. She blinked, staring up at him and smiled sadly, shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” Harry asked, hand still lightly holding her wrist. “You come into my – our – lives, then you just – leave?” he mumbled.

“It’s for the best,” she said, her voice unsteady. She was shaking her hand free of his grasp when he pushed a stray hair behind her ear. She instinctively leaned into his hand, and that’s when he bent down and kissed her.

Ginny responded immediately, subconsciously aware of Harry pushing the door closed. His lips pressed firmly, the kiss taking on an almost frenetic feel. She grabbed his shirt, seeking leverage, and pushed her tongue against his bottom lip. 

A soft vibration of his phone jolted the pair, and the reality of the situation came crashing down. She pushed him away. “This isn’t right.”

“I...” Harry exhaled, brushing his hair with his fingers and straightening his glasses. “I’ve really grown to care for you, Ginny.”

“You’re _engaged,_ Harry. And I consider your fiancée something of a _friend_.” She exhaled sharply, her arms crossed over her chest.

“We have...” Harry looked to the ceiling, searching for the right word, “an _understanding_.”

“Oh,” Ginny said, her eyes growing wide with anger. “You have an ‘understanding’ do you?”

“It’s not like that!” Harry tried to explain, his face reddening. “Our relationship – it’s... out of convenience. She needed someone her father approved of, and I needed a fiancée to be politically viable.”

“So, she’s OK with you just snogging any witch?” Ginny bit back.

Harry groaned in frustration. “It’s more complicated than that!”

“Look Harry. This,” she was breathing heavily now, “is _not_ ok. I’m not sure what goes in high society, but you can’t just snog a girl when you’re not available! You can’t – I won’t be your whore.”

“Do you _really_ think that low of me?” Harry asked, taken aback.

“I didn’t, but I do now,” Ginny spat.

“If you really think, after all the time we’ve spent together, that I could _ever_ think of you like that, then you should go,” he told her, his eyes blinking as he watched her nod and leave, door slamming in her wake.

Harry sat back down, pressing his elbows onto the desk, his hands rubbing his eyes. He wondered how so much of his life somehow turned upside down in just three weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place on the same day as Chapter 13.

_50 km west of Aberdeen_   
_October 24, 2006_

Three days had passed since Hermione’s explosive revelation. After her eerily calm pronouncement _‘It seems I am a witch,’_ she seemed to revert back to the devoted scientist she was when Draco first met her. Their interactions were once again limited to cordial greetings and ensuring Draco was properly fed. 

Draco was – unnerved. He knew that the next supply run would be there in two days and he would be expected to leave with it. He had tried to talk to her, but each time she had politely claimed to be ‘mid-experiment’ or otherwise unavailable. 

Draco had, however, noticed on the second day ‘post explosion’ that his magic seemed to be returning. It was difficult, but he was able to perform a few easy wandless spells, which filled him with immense relief. 

Hermione herself was trying to make sense of her new reality. The theory that she was a witch was proven correct. This meant that someone, or something, somehow bound her magic. Although, in the interest of opening herself up to all possibilities, she had to consider maybe she herself did something to cause her magic to disappear.

She tried as hard as she could not to look back. It didn’t matter what had happened before; she needed to move _forward_. She couldn’t redo the last 17 years, and it was useless to consider what her life would have been like had she _known_. But she could make decisions going forward with this newfound knowledge.

With that in mind, and determined to form a course of action based on logic and not emotion, she began planning. She knew she needed to leave – she wouldn’t find answers stuck here in the middle of the uninhabitable zone. But this begged the question – would the Corps let her go?

She still didn’t know precisely why they sent her out there or who was involved. It was possible any request for reassignment would be denied. 

Then, assuming she _was_ somehow able to get to Aberdeen, she needed to find someone who could give her answers. Her mind went first to her wizard mentor, but she was afraid she couldn’t trust him. But she couldn’t think of anyone else to approach, so she needed to find a way to get him to talk to her.

In the back of her mind was the elephant in the room – Draco Malfoy. In the days since her revelation, she struggled to decide what to do about him. He continued to perplex her. Ever since she remembered that _woman_ and her dark mark, she had purposefully kept her distance from the man.

The memory made her realize something - she had been considering the Death Eaters an academic anomaly - a study, so to speak, into a faction of the wizarding world who deemed themselves superior. But the memory of what those people did to her parents, as vague and short as it was, shook her to her core. She had been completely helpless - the sight of her parents’ terror and the horror of their screams echoed in her head, and she had been unable to prevent it from happening. She had been a small child, paralyzed with fright, and in one horrible moment, the course of her life had changed. 

And she still didn’t know the whole story - beyond the short glimpse she caught, there was still the question of how she got out and what ultimately happened to her parents. It was unsettling. 

She realized she had been overtly theoretical in her assessment of the Death Eaters. Now she considered Draco, and forced herself to acknowledge that he wasn’t just some cult member - he was one of _them_.

She knew, rationally speaking, she couldn’t trust him. Still, a part of her couldn’t help but feel a sense of kinship. He had _helped_ her – though it remained to be seen if he did it for purely altruistic reasons. Without him, she would still be obliviously minding her experiments, unaware of the truth. She felt, right or wrong, a sense of obligation to him. 

And of course, she couldn’t escape the new found reality that she was in fact a _witch_. After believing herself to be non-magical for 27 years, suddenly she was reclassified. She realized, irrationally, that this nullified her Corps officer certification! She wondered for a fleeting moment if they would require her to retrain as a magical. But the reality of the situation dawned on her, and she realized she didn’t even know where she stood with the Corps anymore. What would they do if they found out what she had learned?

And what, besides knowing she was a witch, had she learned? The two people who had attacked her parents were clearly Death Eaters. While the memory was obviously critical, it did not paint the whole picture. And after the mere glimpses she saw, she was reluctant to try and remember more.

No, she needed to find answers. And preferably without the Corps knowing what she knew. And, she realized, if she had any chance of getting out of the uninhabitable zone, she would need Draco Malfoy’s help. So, after three days of considering alternatives and forcing herself to identify each and every reason she needed to be _absolutely careful_ around Draco Malfoy, she finally talked to him.

“Hello, Malfoy,” she said, placing her chair in its usual spot and sitting across from him, as though she hadn’t just ignored him for three days.

“Granger,” he greeted, his brows furrowed. He placed his book down and looked up, seeing her face marked by determination.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started, “and I need your help.”

“What?” he replied dumbly.

She paused, considering what and how much to say. She wouldn’t tell him about the Death Eaters she saw in her memory – not until she had more information. “I need to leave here and find answers. And while I don’t fully trust you,” he looked moderately offended by this, “I need an ally.”

“So, you don’t trust me, but you want me to be your ally? Why should I trust you?” Draco leaned forward, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ve given this some thought,” she started methodically. “If you leave here and go to Aberdeen, you will likely find yourself in interrogations for quite some time. There is no guarantee they’ll give you your wand back. Even if they give you sanctuary, you will likely be the subject of extensive scrutiny and lack the basic liberties and freedoms most citizens enjoy. Purely in virtue of you being, for lack of a better term, a foreign agent. 

“That, of course, is a _positive_ scenario. As far as I’m aware, there is no formal treaty between the WEA and the Death Eaters, in spite of the Death Eaters sovereign land being bordered by the WEA on all sides. This means that technically, the WEA has no obligation to treat you in any specific way. They could put you in a prison to rot, or possibly just send you back to the Death Eaters.

“My point, Malfoy, is that if you want your fate to stay in your own hands, I’m your best bet,” she said confidently.

“What do you propose?” he drawled.

"The supply run usually consists of two non-magical corps officers. But since they're expecting to bring you back with them, they might send a magical or two from Aberdeen as well. I believe the magicals in Aberdeen are fairly young – and not all that powerful, meaning they should be reasonably easy to subdue." She stopped and looked at him. His eyes were open wide.

Malfoy blinked. “You want to subdue them?” 

“I want to Imperius them,” she explained, holding up a book. 

_‘Olde Magic,’_ he read, visibly shivering just looking at it. “Just to clarify, you want me to teach you the Imperius curse?” Malfoy looked incredibly dubious.

She paused, unsure if she should share this next part with him but aware it was critical if her plan had any hope of succeeding. “The lab results from my blood test indicate I have an atypically high concentration of the proteins associated with magical ability. Now, the data I have is by no means conclusive, but based on this information, as well as the – incident – from three days ago, I believe I am unusually powerful,” she finished succinctly, as if she wasn’t claiming anything of import.

Draco blinked at her. He didn’t necessarily doubt her claims – he had witnessed her bout of wandless, wordless magic first hand. But they weren’t talking about her being able to simply stun someone. She was suggesting they place the _Imperius curse_ on four people – two of whom would likely be wizards!

“Granger, I don’t think you understand the Imperius curse – most witches and wizards are _never_ able to fully control _one_ person let alone _four_ . I don’t care how powerful you are; there’s no way I can teach you in _two days_ how to do something that I’ve never seen done!” he exclaimed.

Her face fell. “Well, what do you propose?” she asked.

“Well...” He appeared momentarily contemplative. “What if, when they arrive, you indicate you plan to leave, too. What would they do?”

Hermione frowned. “I assume they would call my Captain to get his approval.”

“And then what?” Draco asked.

Hermione shrugged. “It would depend on if the Captain has been made aware of my situation. Presumably, if he’s ‘in the know,’ so to speak, then he would likely refuse and tell me to stay put. If he’s unaware, then I assume he would permit it.” She thought for a moment then added, “Of course – there’s also the possibility he’s unaware _but_ has been told by someone higher up that I’m not permitted to leave. So, I believe requesting leave upon their arrival is a dangerous course of action.”

“That makes sense – I agree. What if you were sick?” Draco asked.

Hermione looked thoughtful. “Oh,” she started, “long term acute radiation sickness!” She snapped her fingers in realization.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“It’s well known that long term limited exposure to magical radiation zones can cause long term acute radiation sickness. It’s like what you went through, only a more drawn out sickness that typically ends in death. But if we could find a way to fake test results to show that I’m suffering from it, I don’t think the Corps would say no. The WEA bylaws include strict provisions on human rights. If I tell the Captain I need shore leave and he says no, I can escalate the matter.”

“But you’re trapped out here. Without making it to Aberdeen, how would you escalate it?” He was confused.

She smiled. “I have a satellite phone. I’ve never done it, but I could use it to call my WEA rep or a local media source. Can you imagine the headline? ‘ _Corps Leaves Scientist to Die in Uninhabitable Zone_ ’?”

“Ok, so you’ll find a way to falsify this radiation thing,” Draco confirmed. “Then, once we get to a habitable area, we can make our escape? At that point, you _can_ stun people and we can run.”

Hermione frowned. “It will be risky. Also once we’re out of the uninhabitable zone, satellites can track offensive spells, meaning they would know we had used stunning spells and they would be able to locate where we used them.”

Draco was beginning to think this sounded like an impossible plan, when Hermione interrupted his musings. “The other issue is your wand,” she stated.

He looked somewhat contrite. “About that...” 

“Your powers have returned,” she cut in before he could say anything.

He frowned. “How did you know?”

“It was your theory that the spell binding my magic was what made yours disappear. I assumed you would have told me eventually?” she asked with her eyebrows raised.

He nodded. “Of course. I would have told you two days ago when I started to notice them, but you refused to speak with me.”

She looked chagrined as she nodded. “So your magic _is_ back?”

He bobbed his head left to right. “Not quite – but I’ve felt it returning slowly. Hopefully I’ll be close to full power by the time we implement this plan.”

“Agreed.”

“But regarding the wand,” Draco refocused the conversation, “I should be able to transfigure another item into a perfect replica of it. Then, we can simply transfigure the _actual_ wand into something that would be reasonable for one of us to be carrying. Perhaps into a book.” He looked at her.

She appeared skeptical. “But won’t the magicals check for subterfuge?” 

He shrugged. “From me perhaps, but let’s hope that they don’t expect it from _you_.” 

“This is a fairly risky plan,” she commented. “And then of course we’ll need to figure out what to do once we get to Aberdeen.”

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Draco said, his voice calm and reassuring. 

Hermione gazed at him, appreciative yet skeptical of his help. But she had made her decision; they would be allies. For now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Draco asked after a rather poignant silence.

She didn’t need him to elaborate; she knew he was asking about the memory she saw. And while on some visceral level she really _did_ want to talk to him about it, she knew she shouldn’t. And the fact that he had voluntarily brought it up only further raised her suspicion of him.

“We don’t have time,” she told him. She darted into her lab and returned with his wand, holding it out to him. “We have two days before the supply run arrives and we make our escape. I need you to teach me _as much as you can_ in two days. And I need _you_ to somehow get back your full powers and be ready to fight.” 

As Draco took back his wand, they both felt something shift between them. For better or worse, they were leaving that place - together.

* * *

_London_

_October 24, 2006_

Harry returned home that night, shaken by the day’s events. The conversation with Ginny kept replaying in his head, like watching a cringeworthy scene in a movie on repeat. He had known _something_ was developing between them - something he should have acknowledged or at least _considered_ before. But until the prospect of her leaving was staring him in the face, he had blissfully ignored the matter.

He walked into his apartment and found Daphne sitting on the couch, playing with her fingers nervously. While he didn’t agree wholly with Ginny’s assessment of him, she was right in that what he did was unfair to Daphne. If nothing else, they had always been honest with each other.

“I need to talk to you,” they both said at the same time, relieving some of the tension that thickened the air. Harry chuckled lightly, then sat down next to Daphne, grabbing her hand to keep from fidgeting.

“You first,” she insisted.

“Well,” he started, “apparently they found whoever tried to kill me.”

She looked taken aback. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to alleviate the growing pressure there. “Apparently it was some French terrorist. So, uh, Ginny told me, and she’s been reassigned obviously,” he mumbled, staring at the floor. 

She squeezed his hand and urged him to look at her. “Did something happen?” 

“I kissed her,” he told Daphne, unwilling to look her in the face.

“I figured,” she murmured. Harry’s eyes rose and he stared at her. She explained, “I could tell there was something between you two. I’m sure if you’re _truly_ honest with yourself, you’ll agree.”

Harry found himself fighting back tears as he nodded. “Daphne, I’m sorry. It’s just – I don’t know when it happened, but suddenly today when she said she would be reassigned, I realized –“

“That you felt for her?” Daphne finished for him with a small smile. She sniffled and used both of her hands to grasp Harry’s. “Harry,” she paused, “I love you. You are my _best_ friend – but I’ve always known that you wanted more than that from life. Hell, _I_ want more than that.” She tearfully told him, “I think it’s time we end this.”

Harry shook his head. “But what about you?”

Daphne scoffed, “Harry Potter – for once in your life stop thinking about me. I’ll be OK.”

He gave her a half smile and shook his head. “I’ve made a right mess of everything.” At her curious look, he gave her a run-down of his earlier encounter with Ginny.

She smacked him upside the head. “You’re an idiot.”

He scoffed, “Well – I know that, but why?”

“We have an ‘understanding’? What are we – 18th century nobles? No wonder she flipped out at you.” She chuckled.

“What do I do, Daph?”

Daphne looked at her now _ex_ -fiancée and considered this new facet of their relationship. “You give her some space. Then, when an appropriate amount of time has passed, you beg for forgiveness.” 

“We’re still going to be OK, you and me, right?” he pleaded.

“Of course.” She smiled warmly.

“So,” Harry asked, “what did you have to tell me?”

“Oh. That.” She was suddenly nervous again. “It’s a bit of a long tale.”

“What happened?” 

“Long story short, my father has arranged for Astoria to marry a Death Eater.”

Harry blinked once, twice, then physically pinched himself before responding. “Sorry, I was just trying to get myself to wake up, because _surely_ this isn’t real. Your father, who calls himself my greatest supporter, has arranged for your _sister_ to marry a Death Eater?”

She nodded, swallowing the imaginary lump in her throat. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’ve not confronted him, as Astoria has sworn me to secrecy. As far as the public is aware, she will be marrying into a reclusive family in Germany. But Tori says that Voldemort has somehow convinced father that _he_ has the ability to solve the birth rate issue.”

“And Anton BELIEVED HIM?!” Harry shouted, in a way that reminded Daphne of her own conversation with Astoria. His eyes were wild and he pushed his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated.

“I don’t know.” Daphne shook her head. “I feel like I’m surrounded by half-truths and feints these days. Astoria has chosen to be optimistic and would not accept a way out. I’m forced to hope that my father, ever the pragmatist, has not simply sold my sister off and indeed has some sort of plan.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Harry frowned. “What if your father _does_ have a plan? And we’re all just pawns in it?” Fear rose in the pit of Daphne’s stomach, and she did what she could to shake it off. “When does she leave?” Harry asked.

“In two days,” Daphne whispered.

“Oh, Daph.” Harry gulped and held her, his mind trying to make sense of everything. It was like trying to solve a puzzle but only having half the pieces. “Do you know who she’s marrying?”

She shrugged. “Some Death Eater named Draco Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**_Hogwarts_ **   
**_October 5, 2006 (~3 weeks earlier)_ **

_Voldemort smiled maniacally. “Rise.” Draco obeyed, standing at full attention, his hands clasped behind his back and eyes focused on Voldemort’s chest, unworthy of eye contact. “Have you ever heard of Albus Dumbledore?”_

_Draco frowned in thought. “I have read his name in the history books. He was responsible for defeating Gellert Grindelwald, I believe.”_

_Voldemort nodded. “That is true. He was also once my greatest adversary.”_

_Draco started, “I cannot believe you had an adversary, my lord. Your power is singular.”_

_Voldemort smirked, “Of course. Perhaps ‘adversary’ is too strong a word. Maybe ‘thorn in my side’ is more accurate.”_

_Draco chuckled, and Voldemort beamed at the young man – the perfect protégée._

_“Do you know what happened to Albus Dumbledore?” Voldemort asked, pacing the former Headmaster’s office he now claimed in Hogwarts._

_Draco considered this. “I do not, my Lord. I presumed him dead.”_

_Voldemort cocked his head to the side. “I assume the old man is still lurking; he’s like a cockroach that way.” He chuckled lightly at his own joke before continuing, “In 1981, he heard a prophecy – one that shook him so profoundly, he ran. Where he went, no one knows, but he has been missing ever since.”_

_“I didn’t know,” Draco stated._

_“Look me in the eye Draco,” Voldemort ordered. Draco immediately complied. “What separates a great man from an ordinary one is their fortitude. Dumbledore heard the prophecy and went mad. I heard it, and my life was forever changed,” Voldemort stated whimsically. “Would you like to hear it, Draco?”_

_Draco smiled, eager to hear the story. “Of course, sir.”_

> _“17 years past magic’s great reveal,_
> 
> _In the land claimed by magic,_
> 
> _The chosen shall rise._
> 
> _The chosen alone will have the power to choose,_
> 
> _To retrieve what was taken,_
> 
> _And restore what was lost,_
> 
> _Lest it be the end for us all.”_

_Draco frowned as he mulled the passage in his mind._

_“Do you understand what it means Draco?” Voldemort asked._

_“I’m not sure. I would be honored to hear your interpretation, sir.”_

_Voldemort beamed. “I believe there is a powerful person that has come to be who has the power to return us to what was._

_“The Muggle world has corrupted the magical; it is why no more children are being born. This chosen one – I believe they will set things right. Restore wizarding might, and return the Muggles to the ignorance whence they came,” Voldemort explained. “After the Event, I realized the_ **_Event_ ** _was the moment this prophecy spoke of. It’s why, rather than fight, I chose to consolidate our resources, build up our base. Here, we have thrived. But now, we must prepare for the Chosen._

_“Draco,” Voldemort continued, “I need you to go and find the chosen. Bring them to me,”_

_“Of course, my lord. It would be an honor.” Draco bowed. “Who is it that I’m after?”_

_“A witch. Her name is Hermione Granger.”_

* * *

_London_   
_October 26, 2006_

Harry guided Daphne to the front door of the Greengrass Estate at the cusp of dawn. Astoria answered, pulling her sister into a bone crushing hug before leading them into the living room.

In spite of the early hour, the house was bustling. Astoria was the picture of poise, her face perfectly made up and dressed in a pair of deep green wizarding robes. A matching hat sat upon her shoulder length blonde hair. She appeared calm, serene almost.

Around them, the staff prepared; it seemed all of Astoria’s things were going with her. One by one, cases were brought down and shrunk, before being consolidated into a brand new black trunk that sat to the right of the front door.

“Astoria, are you sure you want to do this?” Harry asked.

She nodded. “I’m sure. I know it’s not... what I thought. I never imagined I’d have to leave my family and the WEA. But I’ll get to see Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. I’ll miss my cell phone and my friends, but I’ll have the wizarding family I’ve always dreamed of.” She smiled.

Harry thought her painfully naïve but knew he wouldn’t be able to change her mind. So instead, he nodded and gave her a hug goodbye before leaving the siblings to have a moment alone.

He stood on the back porch, casting a light warming spell and smiling sadly as the sun rose towards the coming storm clouds. 

“I heard they found your would-be killer.” Anton came up beside him.

Anger filled every pore in Harry’s body at the sight of the man; but he swallowed his rage and gave a false smile. “You know what I’ve always said – can’t trust the French,” Harry joked.

Anton gave a slight chuckle. “Well, I’m sure you’re relieved.”

“Of course,” Harry confirmed. “Shouldn’t you be saying goodbye to Astoria?” 

Anton shook his head. “We had words earlier. She wishes to take her next steps on her own.”

Harry frowned, wondering what was left unsaid. 

Daphne came out, her face red and cheeks damp, and interrupted the awkward silence that had fallen between the men. “She’s gone.” 

Harry opened his arms, and Daphne held on to him. Anton excused himself.

“Are you okay?” 

“No,” Daphne breathed, “but let’s just get the rest of this morning over with.”

He nodded and led her to the dining room, where Anton sat waiting for them. An assortment of breakfast foods lay in the center, though Harry wasn’t sure he would be able to keep anything down. 

The three ate in silence for a few minutes, Anton reading the morning papers, Harry nibbling on some rye toast, and Daphne sniffling into her orange juice. 

“What is going on?” Anton asked finally, closing the paper and eyeing the pair with suspicion. 

“Father,” Daphne started, straining to sound poised amidst her grief, “we have something to tell you.”

“What did you do?” Anton asked, his face growing red.

Harry and Daphne looked to one another, confused, before Daphne continued, “Harry and I - we have ended our engagement.”

Silence filled the hall. Anton blinked. “Why?”

“We don’t love each other as a husband and wife should,” Daphne explained.

Anton laughed in disbelief. “And you think your mother and I did?” He looked at Daphne incredulously. “Marriage isn’t about some elusive concept of love. It’s about partnership and mutual respect. You would throw everything away for, what - hormones?”

Harry and Daphne looked at each other until finally, Harry responded, “Sir, it is our lives. This is what we’ve chosen.”

“You children,” Anton shook his head. “If you insist on this Daphne, then I will insist on finding you an appropriate marriage.”

Harry’s face grew red in anger. “What gives you the right?” he asked. 

Daphne's eyes were watering, panic evident on her face.

“I’m her father,” Anton said, before turning to Daphne. “I’ll be leaving behind an _empire_ . I can’t just let you marry _anyone_.”

“It’s my life. You don’t have a choice, father,” Daphne said. Silent tears streamed down her face.

“We’ll see about that,” he threatened. 

Harry and Daphne looked at each other, both unsure of what to do when Anton shook his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he started, surprising the pair. “I was taken by surprise is all. Daphne, all I want is for you to be successful.”

“I know that father,” Daphne said softly, though Harry was dubious.

“Just do me a favor,” Anton asked. “Give me a few days to come to terms with your decision before you go public.”

* * *

_50 km west of Aberdeen_

Hermione paced the living room, her small bag clacking against her belt buckle. 

“You need to stop. You’ll wear yourself out,” Draco urged her.

“There are so many things that can go wrong.”

“And we have discussed countless eventualities. You have proven yourself to be as adept a witch as you are a scientist. _We will be fine!”_ he assured her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him curiously before nodding and checking the contents of her bag again.

They had spent the past two days preparing. The first part of the plan had been executed – she had manipulated her test results to indicate she suffered from long term acute radiation poisoning. When she had called to tell her CO about her predicament, he seemed genuinely supportive. Hermione found herself unwittingly feeling hopeful that any conspiracy against her was isolated to a few bad apples and not representative of the Corps as a whole.

Draco had shown her how to manipulate the small bag she was carrying to increase its volume and make it featherlight. She had since been packing and repacking it, ensuring they had sufficient non-perishable food, clothing, medical supplies, as well as a variety of books and her notes.

What she also packed, though she had not told Draco, was her 9mm handgun, standard issue for Corps officers. She hoped she wouldn’t need it, but even with the knowledge that she was a witch, the weapon gave her a feeling of security.

What remaining time they had was dedicated to teaching Hermione magic. Draco reluctantly allowed her to use his wand and taught her spells ranging from levitation to stunning and even how to make and put out fires. She was a natural student, and Draco felt they were in as good a position as any to pull this off.

At 10 am, Hermione heard the familiar sound of a military tank pulling up to her cabin. Draco quickly cast a glamour on Hermione as they had discussed, painting her face with red flecks and tinting her eyes a jaundiced yellow – physical symptoms commonly associated with her false illness. They waited for the officers to enter, Hermione nervously counting how many sets of footsteps were present. She counted three sets – hopefully, the two typical officers and a wizard. _One wizard is easier than two,_ she thought optimistically.

She heard the telltale ‘ _woosh’_ indicative of a person coming through the decontamination area, and she smiled at the sight of the two familiar non-magical officers.

“Lieutenant Granger,” Officer Raddick nodded at her, removing his head covering and tossing Hermione the bag he had on him. “Two suits – no waiting.”

Behind the two non-magicals, Hermione saw someone she assumed was a witch. The woman took off her head covering and turned to Malfoy, looking wary. Hermione attempted to shake her head at Malfoy, to convey that she didn’t recognize this woman. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” the witch started, not acknowledging Hermione at all, “I am Colonel Longbottom, and I will be accompanying you to Corps HQ in Aberdeen for an assessment.” 

Hermione’s eyes went wide; they had _not_ anticipated the Corps would send such a senior magical and, judging by Draco’s facial expression, he had reached that conclusion as well. The witch looked older and had the lines and calluses indicative of a prolific military career. Her hair was short, a no-nonsense cut for someone who couldn’t be bothered dealing with such trivial things as styling one's hair. 

Hermione and Draco dutifully donned their suits, and Draco felt himself being scanned. He had just enough time to send a look of concern Hermione’s way before Longbottom’s wand pointed at Draco. 

“I was told you had no magic,” she said, her eyes narrowed at the man. 

Hermione, acting on instinct, released Draco’s wand from her bag and turned to _Stupefy_ the witch - only for the woman to easily block the spell with a _Protego_.

Immediately, both Corps non-magical officers lifted their weapons, one aimed at Hermione and the other at Draco. _Crap,_ she thought; she had hoped they would at least get to Aberdeen before the plan went to hell. Hermione looked to Draco and nodded, immediately throwing him his wand, then dropping to the ground and rolling to avoid the inevitable gun fire. 

While the Colonel was a more senior officer and likely a formidable witch, Hermione was younger, stronger, and more agile. She could feel Draco’s shield once it was up and covering her. Without pause, she kicked her leg out, tripping the older witch, who fell down in a heap of limbs, her wand clinking as it fell and rolled across the room. Hermione put the Colonel in a choke hold with her legs until she passed out.

“Hermione!” Draco called out. He was struggling to maintain his shield against the barrage of automatic weaponry. She reflexively grabbed his hand, and she felt him calm and his shield grow stronger. He looked at her wide eyed, but she hardly noticed as she continued to calculate their next steps. 

She knew they only had minutes until the older witch awoke, and their best bet was to leave her there. Hermione would have left the officers, too, but she didn’t know how to get to Aberdeen and did not want to be lost in the radioactive desert.

“Draco, can you _Imperius_ one of them?” Hermione asked. Draco indicated he would try, and they counted to three, at which point Hermione held her hands up to maintain as much of the shield as possible. Her shield wasn’t perfect, and she felt a slow-moving bullet crash into her shoulder, but she would survive. Hermione watched as Raddick succumbed to the curse and head butted his colleague, before turning to face Draco for instruction.

Hermione checked the unconscious officers' belongings, hoping neither of them had a hidden communications device, and snapped the witch's wand in half.

Draco, Hermione, and the imperiused officer put on their head coverings and headed to the tank, leaving the unconscious Corps members behind. 

“Well,” Hermione said as she got into the backseat of the tank. “Looks like our plan is working out.”

* * *

_London_

Harry and Daphne returned home, emotionally spent and having every intention to take the rest of the day off, when Harry’s phone went off. “Dad?” He frowned into the phone.

Daphne watched him walk into the kitchen to take the call, wondering what could possibly be happening _now_ . They had purposefully chosen to wait to tell Harry’s dad, and she found herself praying her father hadn’t gone ahead and done so himself. _But he asked us to wait to tell people,_ she reassured herself.

“I have to go in to the office. Apparently, Parkinson’s convinced Fudge to add a provision to the upcoming tax legislation that would allow magical estates to be declared ‘historical land’ and tax exempt.” He rolled his eyes.

“And you have to go _now_?” she asked.

He shrugged. “We need that tax bill to pass, _without_ the provision. I’ll be OK alone; you stay here, you had a tough day.”

He headed to his car and, once again, his phone rang. He answered it without looking at the caller ID. “Yeah Dad, I’m on my way in.”

Daphne was on the couch, pondering their morning, when she felt the living room shake.

* * *

_Thirty minutes earlier_

Robards had only just entered their office when Fox came rushing in, his usually kempt hair disheveled and tie askew. 

“We gotta go! Interview room C.” 

Robards, trusting Fox implicitly, ran after the man. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I – did something,” Fox said with a slight smile as they rushed towards the interview room.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I got a notice this morning: we were approved to use Veritaserum on Pierre. Apparently there was some mix up, but I managed to grab him from holding. They’re taking him to France this afternoon to face charges there. If we want to do this…”

Robards nodded, picking up his pace. “Good work, Fox.”

As they entered interview room C, the one used exclusively for enhanced interrogations, Pierre looked substantially more shaken. Fox wasted no time. “Mr. Pierre, thank you for joining us. We will be conducting another interrogation with you using Veritaserum.”

Pierre interrupted, “I do not consent.”

“Your consent is not required; we have received a waiver from the Justice department.” Fox turned to the nurse who stood off to the side. “Please begin.” She nodded and immediately approached Pierre, successfully injecting the serum into the man’s arm, in spite of his flailing.

“Mr. Pierre.” Fox placed his hands on the table and stared directly at the prisoner. “Why did you attempt to kill Harry Potter.”

Pierre twitched, obviously trying to avoid answering the question before he spat, “I vuz paid handsomely.”

“Did you purposefully get caught?”

“Yes,” he let out reluctantly.

“Who paid you?” 

Pierre started slamming his forehead against the table. 

“Fox,” Robards said quickly, “I think he’s under a spell; he won’t answer.”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Fox said quickly. Pierre stopped and looked visibly relieved. Fox considered now what he could ask.

“Do you believe Harry Potter’s life is still in danger?” Fox asked.

Pierre smiled wickedly. “Yes.”

“Are you aware of a specific attempt on Harry Potter’s life?”

Pierre’s smile faded. “Yes.”

“When?”

Pierre immediately convulsed and pushed himself and his chair backwards against the wall, falling to the floor. Robards and the nurse rushed to his aid. The man was still conscious, blood oozing from his head, as he looked up at Robards and said softly, “You’re too late.”

“Medic!” Robards called, then turned to Fox. “Call Officer Weasley immediately. We need to get Potter into protective custody.”

* * *

_“Yeah dad, I’m on my way in.”_

“Harry! It’s me Ginny.”

“Ginny! It’s – great to hear from you! I have-“

“Not now Harry. Are you at home?” 

“Yes, I just got in my car, and I’m heading to the office.”

“Harry-”

Moments later, a bomb went off in Harry’s car – the explosion so intense that no amount of shielding would save anyone caught in the blast.

* * *

_Chamonix, France_   
_October 26, 2006 – later that afternoon_

_“We’re coming to you live from Central London, where an explosion has killed Harry Potter. News reports just in suggest this was a non-magical plot against the young Representative. As you all remember, Harry Potter first came into the spotlight when his mother was killed protecting him and a group of non-magicals from isolationists in 1991._

_“His mother’s murder was the spark that led to the magical and non-magical communities’ willingness to join forces and form the Western European Alliance. Since then, Mr. Potter has championed the cooperation of the two communities and, in particular, the Corps. Mr. Potter’s murder has devastated England, and the magical community is up in arms. He leaves behind a fiancée, Daphne Greengrass, daughter of Magitech CEO, Anton Greengrass._

_“In other news, we have been asked to put out an all points bulletin alert for two fugitives. Corps Lt. Hermione Granger and an unnamed wizard have escaped Corps custody. Both are armed and dangerous magic users. If you see them, do not engage but contact the local Corps authorit-“_

The old man powered off the TV with a wave of his hand and ran his fingers through his long white beard, looking out at the endless pastures and mountains with a heavy sadness.

“Albus?” 

Dumbledore turned away from the TV, smiling at his long time friend. 

“Is it finally time?” his friend asked.

Albus Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. Go now – find him.”

His friend nodded and left. Alone again, Albus stared out and watched as the storm clouds gathered. “It has begun.”

* * *

_End Part 1_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

#  **Part 2: Secrets**

_“the upward journey and the viewing of the upward world as the soul's ascent to the intelligible." – Plato, the Republic_

**Chapter 16**

_Aberdeen_   
_October 27, 2006_

“Granger,” Draco breathed; his eyes darted back and forth across the internet café from beneath a pair of aviator glasses, trying to discreetly watch the two Corps officers across the street. His hair was dyed brown – a faded black baseball hat covered the blonde roots that no amount of hair dye could overcome for long. He unconsciously scratched at his left forearm, the dark mark covered by a long sleeved black shirt.

“Almost done.” Hermione’s fingers clacked against the keyboard. “Found him!” she exclaimed and stood up, hastily grabbing the paper from the printer before leaving. She gripped Draco’s hand so anyone watching would assume them a bland couple going about their day. The pair left, avoiding eye contact with the ever-increasing number of Corps officers.

They walked evenly, attempting to blend in with the scant crowds as much as possible, until they reached a ramshackle motel. Hermione placed a few Alliance chips into the slot marked 8 and grabbed the new key card. “We have a few more hours before we should move again,” she told Draco as they walked up the two flights of stairs into the small room.

Only once they were safely inside, an Imperturbable Charm ensuring privacy, did the pair let their guard down. 

“We have to get out of this city,” Draco drawled, “the Corps presence seems to have tripled overnight.” He pulled the cap off, brushing out his now completely blonde hair, his innate magic overcoming the non-magical hair dye. 

Hermione nodded. “I know. I wouldn’t be surprised if they impose a curfew tomorrow.” She brought the papers over to a card table that stood a few feet away from the bed. “We need to somehow get to Liverpool.” She marked Liverpool and stood over the map considering alternative routes. “There are bus routes – it would be indirect, but we could get there in maybe four days?”

Draco looked unamused. “Four days? How will we stay off the Corps radar for four days?”

Hermione shrugged. “It will be easier the further from here we are. I truly believe the most difficult thing will be leaving this city. Once we do that, it will be merely evading the Corps at bus stations and checkpoints. I think the key is to maintain non-magical disguises; they’re so focused on removing glamours, they’re not considering less sophisticated methods.”

“Are you sure we can’t apparate?” Draco pleaded.

Hermione shook her head. “Apparition is highly regulated. We would have to break into an apparition zone, and even then, we would need someone to guide us. It’s too messy.”

He nodded. This was a familiar argument; he would suggest a magical means to accomplish a task, and Hermione would sound off some regulation that would prevent them from effectively using magic discreetly. It was – tiring. “When can we leave the city?”

“Tomorrow.” Hermione paused for a minute, reviewing the piles of brochures and papers that she had acquired over the last 24 hours. “I believe, based on the notations on the main port, there should be a ship departing at 5 am for St. Andrews. It’s an oil freighter; typically, there would be a lot of security, but I theorize they’ve moved Corps officers off of the dock to look for us.” 

"How do you suppose we’ll get on the freighter?” Draco asked. He’d learned earlier in the day that curses and any ‘offensive’ spells were monitored through enhanced satellites and immediately detected, at least in the city. So the _Imperius_ and _Confundus_ charms were clearly off limits.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. Ship workers typically don’t love the Corps. I think we just bribe someone.” She shrugged.

“Isn’t that risky?” Draco questioned.

“Sure,” Hermione responded, “but as you said, we need to get out of Aberdeen. The bus station will be overrun with Corps members. I’m sure we can find some freighters willing to stow us away for a fee.”

Draco looked concerned but nodded, finding he was, for the moment, fully reliant on Hermione’s guidance. He’d been overwhelmed since leaving Hermione’s hovel in the uninhabitable zone; they had been in Aberdeen for barely an hour before the Corps officer they had Imperiused had sounded the alarm. The pair had been hiding out and researching since then.

“Is this what all of the WEA is like?” Draco asked, looking unimpressed. The city was quite sad: most buildings appeared to be in disrepair. This motel, as shabby as it was, happened to be in what felt like a _better_ side of town. 

“Not exactly,” Hermione started. “Aberdeen is fairly close to an uninhabitable zone. Most of the population fled after the Fundamentalists nuked Scotland - sometime after the _Event_. The Corps set up a base here about five years ago and encouraged some industry and resettlement.” Her tone was upbeat, and she had the familiar look of pride in her eye.

“You’re doing it again,” Draco drawled. 

“What?”

“You’re speaking lovingly of the Corps,” he pointed out.

“I’m not. I’m merely stating a fact. Besides, until I’ve fully determined what exactly is going on, I refuse to blindly hate,” Hermione pointed out.

“It wasn’t _what_ you said, but how you said it. You credit the Corps while you run from them.” 

“I don’t believe it’s so simple – you should realize that not everything is black and white. The Corps may be involved in something unsavory, but it doesn’t make them inherently bad. I may be running from them, but it’s only because I lack enough information to identify who can be trusted.”

“Yet, you’ve admitted you don’t trust me, and you’ll work with me.” Draco frowned.

“You’re one person; and I _know_ I can’t trust you,” Hermione reminded him. “We’re well off track now. Once we reach St. Andrews, hopefully the Corps will be off our trail, and we’ll be able to get on a bus with a basic disguise.”

“Alright, Granger, it’s a good plan.” Draco cracked his neck, the exhaustion of the past couple of days weighing on him. He sat on the bed and considered his current predicament. He was being hunted in a Muggle/magical state, his only ally the witch he had been tasked to procure for the Dark Lord. And at this point, after spending three weeks with the woman and having everything he thought he knew about the world outside of Hogwarts turned upside down, he was reluctant to blindly follow the Dark Lord’s orders without further information. 

He roughly scratched at the scar on his right shoulder, allowing himself to consider the Dark Lord’s prophecy. Away from the Death Eaters, Draco admitted that the Dark Lord’s interpretation was – optimistic. Looking at the witch, and based on his interactions with her thus far, he could not imagine her voluntarily taking any action that would align with the Dark Lord’s goals. He himself had never liked the idea of prophecy; they were fickle things and always subject to interpretation. What had once appeared a straight forward mission was becoming progressively murky, particularly when it came to the witch in question.

“Why do you scratch that?” Hermione asked, nodding towards the scar.

Draco shrugged. “Not sure, really. It itches sometimes.” He looked up at Hermione and smirked. “Speaking of scars, you’re bleeding again.” 

Hermione cursed before grabbing the first aid kid, handing it to Draco so that he could restitch the wound on her left shoulder. The gun shot wound was neither fatal nor debilitating, just – annoying. Draco had offered to magically heal it, but she refused, fearing the Corps would be monitoring specifically for healing spells, since they knew she had been shot and might use them to treat her wound.

He frowned as he carefully stitched the skin together, while Hermione remained stiff, refusing to cry out. He found it amusing that for all the times she repeated that she didn’t trust him, she had handed him a needle and granted him carte blanche to push it through her.

“I can’t believe how many restrictions on magic there are,” he bemoaned, placing a bandage on her shoulder and returning the kit to her.

Hermione shrugged. “I mean, the isolationists complain about it. But the way I see it, wizards and witches have so much more opportunity now than they had before. They can live _free_ anywhere they want – well, at least within the WEA. Magicals are well represented within our government. The younger witches and wizards in particular, those who never knew another way, are free to be who they are without fear of recrimination.

“I think you focus too much on what was lost and not enough on what was found. The _Event_ was horrific and quite possibly the worst way possible for the world to find out about magic. But there are _positives_ to come out of it,” Hermione pointed out.

“Like the Corps?” Draco sniped.

“Yes,” Hermione sniped back. “What did _they_ do to you anyways?”

“I guess I just don’t like being hunted,” he pointed out.

Hermione peered outside their barred window and saw the familiar Corps officers trekking to and fro and sighed. “It’s not safe to go out for food; we’ll have to eat rations again.” Before he had the opportunity to argue, she dug into her expanded bag and retrieved two Corps’ Instant Meals.

“The Corps _must_ be evil to create an atrocity such as this,” he griped as he forced down some of the tasteless mush.

“You know, for Corps training, I had to spend a week alone in the wilderness,” she remarked, half her meal already gone.

“A week? Didn’t you just spend two years in the middle of nowhere?”

“Well, yeah, but I had a home, power, TV, and food. This was _just me_. They gave me five Corps Instant Meals, which they said was enough for me to survive. By the end of the week, I grew to appreciate them.”

“You lasted a week in the woods on only these?” He looked horrified.

She laughed. “No, of course not. I ate vegetation and fruits I deemed safe, and I hunted game. But I grew to appreciate not having to fight for a meal,” she explained. 

“I don’t get it; why did they make you do that?”

“Well, to be clear, they didn’t _make_ me do anything. Anyone who wishes to be a Corps officer is required to complete the quest. It’s a test of sorts – officer training is rigorous. I have to admit,” she said with a light smile, “by the end of it, I felt – a sense of achievement that little else had given me in my life. Like, I knew I was a _survivor._ ”

Draco looked at her thoughtfully. “Do wizards in the Corps have to go through that?”

She nodded. “Yup – and no wand. We each receive a single weapon. If anything, it’s more important for the magicals than the non-magicals.” 

Draco found that he wanted to disagree, but given his utter inability to do _anything_ over the last 24 hours, he had to admit that some non-magical survival skills would be dead useful.

“So what does that mean anyway – to be an ‘Officer’ in the Corps?” Draco asked.

Hermione threw the empty CIM pouch into the trash can and sat in the folding chair next to the card table, turning it to face Draco. “Let’s see – everyone joins the Corps as a Private. Then we have Lieutenant Sergeants, Sergeants, and Chief Sergeants, which is as high as you can go before becoming an Officer. To become an Officer, you are required to complete a two year program and pass a series of tests, such as the wilderness exercise. Once completed, you are an _Officer_. Then you can become a Lieutenant, which is – was – my rank. After Lieutenant comes Captain, Lieutenant Colonel, Colonel, General, and then Major General. Typically, there are three Major Generals: one magical, one non-magical, and one wild card, so to speak.”

“And that witch – the one who came for me – she was a Colonel? Is that important?” Draco asked.

Hermione paused, contemplating before answering. “You’ll find there are a _lot_ of Officers; typically, these Corps goons running around are Officers, though I’m sure some are Privates and Sergeants. To become a Lieutenant, you’re expected to be a leader, prove your intelligence beyond simple tests. 

“I was primarily given the rank of Lieutenant due to the nature of my assignment. Typically, Lieutenants are responsible for a squadron of soldiers. So imagine having to prove yourself not once but _three_ more times, since Longbottom not only had to work her way to Lieutenant, but to Captain, Lieutenant Colonel, and eventually Colonel.”

“Does level of power play into ranking at all?” Draco asked.

“Not overtly,” Hermione surmised. “I’ve never looked into it extensively, but I have noticed that the higher ranked magicals are typically more powerful. I would assume that perhaps magical ability is connected to intelligence or inherent leadership. Or perhaps I’m misunderstanding the causal link, and magicals with substantial power are more easily accepted as leaders.” 

She paused, brows furrowed. “But all that being said, the regulations were written so that, technically, a magical with only minimal power could rise through the ranks. It’s not anyone’s inherent strength or power but rather their ability to use those skills that matter.”

“But why? _Shouldn’t_ power be taken into account? Don’t you want the most powerful leading you?” Draco questioned.

“Not particularly,” she shrugged. “I would prefer a leader to be intelligent, rational. In the WEA, we do not have a clear executive. It was a compromise the magicals and non-magicals came to: we have three branches of government – the Corps, the Judicial branch, and Parliament – and each branch has its own leaders. These leaders convene a delegation when executive decisions need to be made. The intent is that the diversity of thoughts and experiences from the three government branches will make decisions inherently wise. Whereas a single person as an executive – perhaps a single _powerful_ person – could be subject to emotional whim.”

Draco disagreed. “The Death Eaters live in perfect harmony with a single leader. It’s possible, so long as the leader is powerful.”

“The Death Eaters are a very small homogenous subset of a subset. You all have the same beliefs, the same goals, and believe in your leader in the same way. Presumably, the youngest of you have known no other way and have not been exposed to other beliefs or ways of life. In such a setting, it’s unsurprising your people have been able to live in harmony,” Hermione finished, silencing her last thought of ‘ _however, it’s surprising you left_.’

“Perhaps one day, we’ll have the opportunity to test my theory.” Draco smiled.

“Ho – you’re threatening me? Or the WEA?” Hermione raised her eyebrows.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m joking. I told you, we only seek to defend what’s ours.”

“A school and a small town.” Hermione shook her head. “Hard to imagine going to war over something so replaceable.”

“Because you’ve never been to Hogwarts,” Draco drawled, “it’s not a ‘school’ like you think of it.”

“Yes, yes. You’ve mentioned that before – paintings and passageways,” Hermione mumbled.

Draco shook his head. “Most of the magicals in the UK went to Hogwarts before the _Event_ . It was the hub of magic, so to speak. The founders built the castle on a magical nexus; the school has been known to grow and change in order to effectively accommodate the wizarding world. The wards around Hogwarts are unique: the castle _itself_ has added layer upon layer of protection to it. The castle likely represents the single greatest achievement of the wizarding world.” 

“You mean wizarding Europe?” Hermione clarified.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, what about the magicals in America? Or China? Perhaps in Africa, they’ve built pyramids that can float in the sky. Who knows? The point is, you described Hogwarts as sitting on a magical nexus; can’t someone simply recreate it on another one?” Hermione pondered.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Perhaps someone could, but they would have to wait a thousand years for the castle to be anything like Hogwarts is.”

“I’d like to see it – if nothing else, to see your face as you show me,” Hermione smirked.

“Ha ha. The older generation tells me it’s not the same as it once was. Apparently, there used to be _ghosts_ about, and the stairwells moved without prodding. Some even say that Hogwarts was once alive – not just sentient, but truly alive. I think she’s hibernating now, waiting for the next class of students.” Draco said this last part with a sense of nostalgia.

“Do you not use it as a school anymore?”

“It’s impractical, with the birth rate in decline and most families living in Hogsmeade,” Draco explained. “It makes more sense to have the school in Hogsmeade and use the castle for other ventures.”

“Like children running amok?” Hermione suggested with a light smile.

“Those were the good ol’ days.” He lay down on the bed, staring at the bits of orange marking water damage on the popcorn ceilings.

Hermione lay next to him, her hands on her stomach as she observed him. “Do you miss it?”

He shrugged. “I miss... certain people and things. I miss using my wand.” He unconsciously rubbed his right forearm at the mention of it. “I miss the familiarity of it.” He paused and wondered when he became so comfortable talking about such things. “Here, everything is... different.”

“Well,” she started and grabbed his hand in an overly familiar gesture, “you’ve got me.”

It was a habit they’d formed in their preparations to leave the uninhabitable zone: he’d grab her shoulders to calm her, and she’d grab his hand to comfort him. 

“Yeah,” - he rolled over to his side to face her, eyes darting from their clasped hands to her eyes - “until you decide you don’t need me anymore.”

“Oh Draco,” she smiled, “I’m sure we have quite some time before then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

_London_   
_October 31, 2006_

Daphne stood still at the front of hundreds of mourners gathered for Harry's funeral in the WEA Memorial Cemetery on the outskirts of London. Her long blonde hair, blown left and right by the thick wind, lay in stark contrast to her conservative black dress and matching umbrella. She blinked away the tears that threatened her, willing herself to remain stoic until she finally got away from the press.

She felt her father inches to her right, his left arm draped over her shoulder in an act of comfort. Daphne seethed internally, wanting nothing more than to rip his arm off of her and scream. But that wouldn’t do, not with the hundreds of “close family and friends” within the barricade and the hundreds of thousands watching live on national television. Her father, ever the businessman, was using this moment to ensure that the WEA always thought of the Greengrasses when they thought of Harry Potter.

_Like that matters now,_ Daphne thought as she watched the non-magical bishop speak words that meant nothing to her about the person who meant so much. She looked to her left where James Potter stood alone. His glasses lay crooked on his face, and his hair – ordinarily tamed – stood askew as Harry’s always had.

Daphne wished to comfort the man, for surely, as much as she grieved, he grieved more. But her father’s grip kept her planted firmly in place. She tried to focus on the bishop’s words, but at that moment the clouds decided to open up and let out another torrent of rain. She dared look up, the storm clouds gathering, the grey skies reflecting her bleak spirit.

Suddenly, voices and shuffling shocked Daphne from her reverie, and she realized the service was complete. A headstone stood – no body, since they could only find the barest remnants of hair, blood, and skin. She felt a new wave of grief hit her as she walked up to the grave stone; _this is all that’s left,_ she thought. She fell to her knees, ignoring the way her black stockings sank into the muddy grass, and gently placed the single white rose she had brought on the grass in front of the gravestone.

“Harry,” she spoke softly, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s so much I never got to tell you. You were - the best friend in the world. I won’t let them take your spirit.” She closed her eyes for a moment, mentally trying to reach out to him, but the only response was the rumbling of thunder.

“Daphne.” Her father’s voice was unusually soft. Daphne took a deep breath before standing and spelling her stockings clean.

“I’m ready father.” She accepted his proffered elbow and gave a small nod to Mr. Potter on her way out. A limo sat waiting for them, the driver immediately racing out to let them in. A charm on the car door dried them off as they entered and Daphne, looking at her dry knees, felt like the magic cheated her out of her misery, giving her a warmth that was inherently wrong. 

“Daphne, we need to discuss your future,” Anton stated bluntly the moment the limo door closed.

“Really father?” Daphne reprimanded. “We just buried my fiancé – can’t you give it a rest?”

“Oh, he’s your fiancé again is he?” Anton snarled. “Just last week, you two came to me telling me you had ended it. So, which is it?”

“Father,” Daphne breathed, “he was my best friend. I’m sorry if I can’t just ‘turn it off’. We’re not all so good at burying our emotions.”

“You’re young,” Anton drawled, “and perhaps I’ve spoiled you. But unfortunately, politics waits for no one. The English Parliamentary Delegation wants to find a replacement for Harry’s seat immediately. I think it should be you.”

Daphne whipped her head around in surprise. “Me?”

Anton smiled in such a way as to suggest this was precisely the reaction he was hoping for. “Yes, dear. You’ve always been the brains behind Harry’s charisma. You’re well-liked by the magical world. And as you just reminded me, the world still thinks he died your fiancé. I can’t imagine it would be a difficult sell.”

Daphne found herself dubious. A part of her had always wanted more of an active role in politics, but her father’s prodding made her – uneasy. She responded as unemotionally as possible. “I’m not sure I want that. Perhaps I’ve lived enough of my life in the spotlight.”

“Daphne, you’re _grieving;_ try and think with your head for a moment.” Anton’s patronizing voice grated her. She wanted to scream at him but had the wherewithal to simply nod.

“I’ll consider it.”

“If you don’t take his seat, it could go to anyone,” he threatened. “Can you imagine? An isolationist getting Harry Potter’s seat? What would be his legacy?”

She narrowed her eyes, wondering how much influence her father had in such matters, and resolved to speak to James Potter at the earliest possible time. Harry was his son, after all; he would most likely have an invested interest in his legacy. 

The limo stopped, and the driver came around to get the door for them. She opened up her umbrella and walked up to James Potter’s townhouse in East London, ignoring the flashes of cameras, magical and non-magical alike, and the rush of her father’s footsteps behind her.

Upon entering, she was immediately thrown by the cacophony of conversation surrounding her. The townhouse was magically altered to fit hundreds. She found herself wandering, room to room, unsure of where she was going or what exactly she was looking for. Though everywhere she went, it seemed someone was looking for her. _Oh, Daphne, I’m so sorry,_ they would say and, like some sort of automaton, she would give them a brief hug or hold their hand and give a light smile and say _thank you, his loss was a loss for us all,_ and excuse herself.

She watched as friends of her father schemed, and the socialites and teenagers treated this as some high society social event. She wasn’t quite sure what made her do it, but she found herself climbing to the second floor and entering Harry’s childhood bedroom.

“Oh!” She startled upon seeing James Potter, sitting on Harry’s twin bed adorned with a quidditch themed comforter. _A relic of a bygone era,_ she thought sadly. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s alright.” He waved her off. She wandered to the other side of the room, running her hand against Harry’s desk and imagining him writing essays while on the winter holidays or playing video games. 

“How are you doing?” Daphne asked and winced. “I’m sorry; that was insensitive.”

“I’m not sure to be honest,” the older man responded, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes in a way so like his son. “I just – how could this happen?” 

Daphne stilled, her eyes falling on the man as he now cradled his head in his hands. _Broken,_ she thought. 

Before she had a chance to respond, perhaps give false platitudes, he continued. “Everything I did, _everything,_ was so that Lily’s death wouldn’t be in vain. But now -,” he paused, tears clearly streaming down his face, causing Daphne to instinctively look away - “what was the point of it all? Who cares about legislation and factions and the Corps and any of it? 

“I just wish I could go back and be supportive of him, as a _father._ Actually _talk_ to him about things that mattered and not just vote counts and all the other minutiae. I just always assumed there’d be _time_ for that. That – we would get the world back to _normal_.” 

Daphne crossed the space and sat next to the man, opening her arms to comfort him as Harry had done for her so many times. She watched clinically as this man, this quiet, impassive, political genius, had what could only be described as a breakdown. He clung to her, sobbing, and she berated herself over the fleeting thought that her dress was being ruined. 

After minutes of this, with her rubbing his back and shushing him, he finally calmed down. “Thank you,” he told her. She nodded and left the man alone in his grief, taking one last look around but not seeing _her_ Harry anywhere in this place.

She reluctantly returned to the artificially enlarged first floor, a thought lingering in the back of her mind, as much as she tried to ignore it. James Potter was disabled by his grief; she couldn’t imagine him having the ability to protect Harry’s professional legacy. She knew she would have to do it, despite her reservations and the fact that her father seemed to have some political agenda that had yet to reveal itself. 

There were already whispers spreading throughout the wizarding community: calls for vengeance and anger at what happened to Harry. The isolationists and the separatists spread the vitriol like poison, creating a skewed narrative of the truth, blaming _all_ non-magicals for this madness. It felt unnatural – like the world forgot everything Harry fought for. The distrust between the magicals and non-magicals was starting up again amongst the older generation; the whispered words _Muggle_ and _freak_ began permeating the populace.

As much as she oftentimes didn’t like this part of herself, she was a shrewd political operative. She wanted to hide from the politics, but she didn’t see an alternative. So she re-entered the crowd downstairs, putting on her most sympathetic face and continuing with the ‘ _Thank yous’;_ because she would need these people’s support if she wanted to preserve Harry’s legacy. In a way, James Potter was wrong. Harry had a gift with people, a way of connecting that made cooperation and a long term peace seem not only possible but inevitable. Daphne was determined not to let his death be in vain.

“Daphne!” She almost cried in relief at the voice.

“Pansy!” She turned and stood still for a moment, looking at the brunette before running and enveloping her in a hug. “Thank you for being here.” 

“Of course you dimwit.” Daphne could hear Pansy’s smile and felt her muscles relax for the first time that day.

Daphne broke the hug and pulled Pansy onto a nearby couch, clutching the woman’s hands. “When did you get to London?”

“I apparated in this morning. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Pansy squeezed her hand.

“I’m just so happy you’re here at all. I feel like I’m surrounded...” The words ‘ _by frauds’_ remained unspoken, but Pansy nodded, understanding her meaning. 

“How have you been?” Pansy asked.

“Oh, as well or terrible as can be expected, I suppose.” Daphne chewed on the inside of her cheek. “It’s been – never ending, between the media and everything else. But you just got here from Paris, so please, distract me with stories!”

“It’s not quite what we dreamed when we were children,” Pansy said with a hint of sadness. “It hasn’t revitalized quite like London. But a few shops have opened, and it’s glorious.” Pansy smiled.

“You know, two weeks ago I went with Harry to a pick-up football game.” Daphne smiled at the memory. “Dozens of men and women, just playing football like it was perfectly normal.” Her smile faded as she recalled Harry that night, talking about football and Quidditch and a future he would never get to experience. 

“It gets easier.” Pansy held her hand, looking her in the eye. “I promise.” There was something in her gaze that made Daphne wonder what Pansy had been through to make such a promise. But the look disappeared as rapidly as it came, and Daphne knew it was not the time.

“Thank you.” Daphne looked around and noticed the crowd had finally started to clear out. “I hate to say it, but I’m quite relieved your father isn’t here.”

Pansy actually laughed at this. “Oh, trust me he had every intention to come. I had to blackmail him to stay away.”

“Do I want to know?” Daphne was intrigued.

“Just father and me, more alike than I ever realized,” she said with an amused look.

Daphne nodded, not understanding but nevertheless appreciative. “Well, thank you.”

“Of course.”

* * *

Daphne was finally back at her apartment, exhausted from the morning, when an unwanted knock disturbed her.

“I’ll get it,” shouted Pansy from the kitchen, where she had been obsessively cleaning. “Oh, hello,” Pansy stated as she answered the door. “She’s quite tired; it’s been a trying day. Perhaps you can come by some other time? Or better yet, reach out to her solicitor.”

“Who is it?” Daphne got up from where she had been lying on the couch nursing a headache. She patted her hair down as she stood next to Pansy. “Oh. Mr. Robards and Mr. Fox. I’m sorry, but I was not expecting you today.”

“Ms. Greengrass,” Robards began, taking his hat off and holding it in both hands in a sign of respect. “We are very sorry for your loss. I understand the timing is – not ideal. But we would greatly appreciate a few minutes of your time.”

Pansy gave her a curious look, and Daphne responded with a brief head shake. Pansy gave a cold good-bye to the detectives before leaving the room. 

“Please, come in.” Daphne opened the door further and gestured for the pair to sit on the couch. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” Fox gave her a sad smile. 

“And what can I do for you?” Daphne asked, taking a seat on the adjacent chair.

“We wanted to ask if there is anything you noticed in the days leading up to Mr. Potter’s death: anyone watching him, anything unusual. Particularly around your home,” Robards asked her succinctly. 

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Daphne responded, her voice cold. “We’d been told you had _solved_ the attempt on his life.”

Robards and Fox looked at one another, a silent conversation playing between them. “Of course,” Fox stated, his typical charisma dulled. “We just ask that you consider the few days – particularly the time between when the arrest was announced and the second bomb.”

Daphne cocked her head to the side, curious. “I thought the French fundamentalists took credit for both bombings.”

Robards gave Fox a nearly imperceptible nod, and the younger man continued, “We have reason to believe that your fiancé was the target of a conspiracy – the specifics of which we are investigating.”

This got her attention, and she felt the last of a fog that covered her mind clear. “I’m sorry – what?”

Fox watched her reaction carefully. “We would appreciate it if you would keep this information confidential. But if there is _anything_ that you can tell us, it could potentially help us uncover the conspirators.”

Daphne shook her head but paused as she thought about breakfast the morning of Harry’s death and her sister’s departure, and about her father’s overall strange behavior these past few weeks. But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything – at least not without something more substantive than her father acting a bit dodgy.

“Daphne?” Fox asked her, and she realized she must have been in her own head for a few minutes.

She shook herself. “I’m sorry, it’s just been – quite a day. I can’t think of anything out of the ordinary.”

Robards nodded. “Of course, we won’t disturb you further. Would it be possible for me to use your bathroom before we go?”

“Of course, it’s the second door to your right.” She pointed and returned to her own thoughts, giving the detectives a polite nod goodbye as they let themselves out.

“Daph?” Pansy was at her side almost immediately after the detectives left. “What was that all about?

Daphne shrugged. “They just wanted to know if I saw anything unusual the days before Harry died.”

“Hmm. I thought they caught the guy?” Pansy questioned.

“I think they’re just crossing their T’s and dotting their I’s so to speak.” Daphne shrugged, keeping the detectives’ confidence.

“What else is bugging you?” Pansy asked, sitting on the couch the detectives had vacated.

“I was just thinking about the Corps Officer who was assigned to protect Harry,” Daphne started, staring at a random spot on the wall. “I just realized she wasn’t at the funeral today; it’s just – surprising.”

“Why?” Pansy asked.

Daphne wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Well she was with us all the time the last three weeks; we grew close to her.”

Pansy shrugged. “I’m sure the Corps sent her on some other assignment.”

“Yeah.” Daphne felt itchy on the chair, in this apartment. “Pansy, can we go somewhere?”

She perked up. “Oh, I like this. Where exactly?”

Daphne had an idea. “Harry went to this club once – Weasleys. He said no one knew him there, and it was brilliant.”

Pansy laughed. “Sounds positively pedestrian. I love it!”

Daphne smiled and texted Ginny for the address, part of her realizing she wouldn’t mind commiserating with the other woman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. Thank you for reading!


	18. Chapter 18

_25 km northwest of London_   
_October 31, 2006_

“Well, Daphne seems to be alright,” Ginny said, “she just texted asking how to get to Weasleys _._ ”

“That’s a relief,” Harry responded without looking up, focused on cutting some dung root.

“Harry, you need to make them consistent or else you risk the potion turning sour early.” Their host, Luna Lovegood’s cold words were spoken in an oddly melodic tune. 

Ginny sat to the side, checking news footage and responding to queries on her phone. Harry had volunteered to make potions, feeling quite uneasy about being ‘dead’.

He recalled uncomfortably the events of five days earlier.

* * *

_London_   
_October 26, 2006_

_“Harry! It’s me, Ginny.”_

_“Ginny! It’s – great to hear from you! I have-“_

_“Not now Harry. Are you at home?”_

_“Yes, just got in my car, and I’m headed to the office.”_

_“Harry-”, he heard the screech of a car brake to his left, “GET IN NOW.”_

_He heard the panic in her tone and opened his door to immediately find himself yanked magically into the passenger seat of another car. He barely had time to recognize Ginny in the driver’s seat before the door slammed closed and she stepped on the gas. Not a moment later, he felt a rumble and looked back to see, ten meters away, his car exploding._

_“What the…?“ Harry couldn’t look away, finally coming back to himself as they turned a corner and his flaming car was out of sight. “Ginny?”_

_“Harry, we don’t have a lot of time. Long story short, you’re in danger. They found out the French terrorist was just a pawn. There’s some sort of conspiracy going on, so Robards wanted to extract you. We’re faking your death.”_

_Harry’s eyes bulged. “What? No! We can’t – I can’t do that!”_

_Ginny shook her head. “We have to. I almost didn’t get to you on time. We’re not going to be able to catch whoever did this if we’re only focused on keeping you alive!” She pulled into an alley and, after confirming they hadn’t been followed, she got out, holding out her hand to tell Harry to stay put. He watched her, her wand at the ready on her right forearm and her left hand hovering over the gun on her left hip holster._

_He recognized Robards and Fox as they approached, hands raised. Ginny cast a few spells, presumably to confirm their identities, before she beckoned Harry to join them._

_“Gentlemen,” Harry stated as calmly as he was able._

_“We only have a few minutes; we’ve already been called to the scene,” Robards explained. “We need samples from you – hair, blood, and skin.” Without asking, Robards took the referenced samples while Fox explained further._

_“We were able to interview Michel Pierre under Veritaserum for a few minutes. We have reason to believe that he was simply a patsy. Right now, we don’t know who to trust; so as far as anyone outside of the four of us is aware, Representative Harry Potter died today.” Fox paused. “We’re hoping with you dead, the true perpetrators will become clearer.”_

_Robards’ radio went off. “We’ll be in touch but we must go now. Remember – trust no one!”_

_“Robards,” Harry said as the older man turned to leave. “Can you keep an eye on Daphne?”_

_The Auror looked at him oddly. “Is there something I should know?”_

_Harry paused, unsure if he was letting his anger from the morning influence him, but worried nonetheless. “It’s Anton Greengrass; I don’t trust him.”_

_Robards nodded. “We’ll look into him. Have Ginny call if you think of anything else.”_

* * *

“Harry.” Luna’s sing-song voice returned. “You’d better add a pinch of thyme, or your potion won’t incorporate correctly.”

“Sorry.” Harry shook himself from the memory as he focused on the task at hand. “I’ve always been rubbish at potions.”

They had arrived at Luna’s five nights earlier. Despite Robards’ warning to trust no one, Ginny was confident her childhood best friend could be trusted. And while the woman was... odd, to say the least, she hadn’t revealed his survival to anyone.

It had been five days since his untimely ‘demise,’ and after the first two surreal days of watching himself dominate the news cycle, he had grown antsy. Luna was a potioneer and had offered Harry use of her lab. Ginny had compiled a list of useful potions, and Harry had been brewing them one by one over the last few days, with varying degrees of success.

Luna lived in a quaint cottage in what seemed like the middle of an empty field off the beaten path. Harry had to admit, Ginny was a genius to think of this place. Behind the cottage, Luna had a vast greenhouse filled with what Harry assumed was any and every herb, spice, root, or plant anyone could ever need.

Ginny and Harry were – awkward. Once the adrenaline rush of the situation wore off, the memory of their last conversation seemed an ever-constant companion. While Harry felt genuinely relieved that Daphne seemed alright, based on her text to Ginny, it was a stark reminder of the tension that remained between him and Ginny. And given there was no indication of when Robards and Fox would apprehend whomever was ultimately responsible for Harry’s murder attempt, they would likely be stuck with each other for quite a while.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you two a remedy for the nargles? They’re all around you.” Luna gave them each a knowing look. Harry had found Luna’s constant references to what he believed were mythical or otherwise non-existent beings disconcerting, but he learned early on not to ask clarifying questions.

“It’s alright Luna.” Ginny smiled at her before returning to her phone, presumably giving Daphne instructions for how to get to Weasleys.

“Are you telling her how to use the magical entrance?” Harry asked, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

Ginny offered a soft smile. “Well, I’m giving her both. It’s a bit much without a guide.”

“Alright Harry, will you be okay now? I need to check on the mandrakes in my greenhouse. I’ll have my ear muffs on, so I won’t hear you guys if you need anything,” Luna told them, not even waiting for a response before heading out.

“That wasn’t awkward at all,” Ginny said as soon as Luna was out of earshot.

“What? Did I miss something?” Harry looked around and then back at his potion, which was turning the appropriate shade of cyan blue.

“The nargles? Being out of earshot? She can feel the tension.” Ginny used her finger to point back and forth between her and Harry. 

“Ah.”

“Yes. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Ginny started, giving him an out.

“It’s – not that I don’t want to talk; I do. It’s just – I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing again and you’ll yell at me,” Harry pointed out.

“There’s a very good chance of that. Not just because you’ll say the wrong thing but I don’t have the greatest temper.” Ginny shrugged. “Ball’s in your court.”

_No pressure,_ Harry thought as he looked from his potion to the witch, now giving him her full attention. He asked her for a moment so he could effectively bottle the potion before it grew too hot and exploded (as it had that very morning). 

“I’ve been told I was an idiot the last time we spoke,” Harry started. “I’m sorry. I should never have made you feel like I thought of you as a – mistress – or anything like that.”

“I’ll also admit that in hindsight, I didn’t exactly give you time to explain,” Ginny said. “So, I’m sorry too.”

Harry smiled. “What I was _trying,_ but failed, to convey is Daphne and my relationship is for show. That’s not to mean that I typically go off _kissing_ other women. But we have no romantic love between us.” He took a levelling breath. “We started dating to appease her father, who was trying to force her to marry a pureblood wizard, and we got engaged because it was unbecoming for a single man to be a Representative in Parliament.”

Ginny looked at him funny, as if trying to smile. “So what was I to you then? A – distraction?”

Harry shook his head and beamed at her, his eyes alight. “I’ve been best friends with Daphne since we were 13 years old. I love her – not in the way you’re thinking – but probably similar to the way you love your brothers. For us, it was never anything more, and I knew that because-” he paused again, biting the inside of his cheek. “I watched my parents for the first ten years of my life. Even after the _Event_ , when we would go days without a hot meal and were hiding from Isolationists, I would see them together and feel _that_ was why we fought. Not to survive, but to _love_.

“So Daph and I made a pact: we would feign a relationship so that she would be free from her father and I would be a viable candidate for the open representative seat. We always planned for it to be temporary; once one of us found someone who mattered, the plan was to amicably end it.” Harry stopped, stepping closer to Ginny, who was looking up from her seat at him, a slightly hopeful look marking her otherwise neutral features. “After you left, I went home, and I told Daphne what happened. We ended our engagement.”

Ginny’s eyes bulged. “Oh?” She sounded unsure.

“Oh.” Harry smiled at her. “I realized when you were leaving, I wanted you in my life; not as an officer, but as something more.”

He said it easily, as if he were just telling her about the weather. He stepped tentatively closer, now just inches from her, and his eyes gave her the first indication of his apprehension.

“You’re telling me,” Ginny started, her shaky voice betraying her own fear, “you want to be with me?”

“Yes, Ginevra Weasley. If you’re okay dating a dead man, that is.” His smile was bright, and she was suddenly reminded of his face when they walked into Weasleys, the laughter when they danced, that moment when she sang and she found him staring right at her. She thought of that day at the football pitch, when he played like the world wasn’t what it was, how he always noticed when something wasn’t right with her, and all the other moments.

Before she consciously realized it, she was standing, her hand reaching up to brush his hair out of his face. “Oh, screw it,” she mumbled, and she kissed him. 

He responded immediately, wrapping his hands around her waist and narrowing the space between them. Her fingers remained tangled in his hair, like she needed something to hold onto. She pushed herself flush against him, deepening the kiss, demanding more. Since their debacle of a first kiss, she had been doing everything in her power to forget it, to not think about the feeling of his lips against hers or the way his fingers deftly played at her waist. This was somehow more than that - a promise of something real. 

He sighed into her, his tongue buried in her mouth, and she felt the vibrations of their kiss rock through her body. She felt his hands wander, gently tracing lines across narrow paths of skin. Each brush of his fingertips felt like something elemental - not fire or electricity but something equally raw. 

There was a strange urgency to their movements - perhaps the result of weeks of unspoken tension or the time spent together yet still somehow apart. Harry felt almost afraid, like the second he let her go, that would be it and this would be over. Because the reality was, he had never experienced anything quite like _this_ . He’d been with women, but he had never felt this incessant need to be _closer_ , this sense of being shocked from just kissing. 

“Harry?” 

He looked at her, blinking and disheveled. 

“Don’t call me Ginevra.” 

Harry broke into a brilliant smile before pulling her back to him. Their kisses became somehow more frantic, hands fumbling over one another in an overwhelming desire to feel.

They were interrupted by the unceremonious beep of Ginny’s phone, and the pair paused, foreheads pressed together and breaths heavy. “I should get that,” Ginny whispered. Harry nodded, only then letting her arms go. “Weasley,” she barked into the phone.

Harry watched Ginny as she started pacing before shifting towards him, grabbing the brown notebook from her bag.

“Got it,” she mumbled before hanging up. “That was Robards; he found a safe house for us.”

“What’s wrong with here?” Harry asked. While Luna may have been odd, it was comfortable and seemed reasonably off the beaten path.

Ginny shook her head. “Luna’s already sheltered us for too long. If whoever tried to kill you gets wind you are alive and I’m helping you, they may show up here. And I don’t want Luna to become collateral damage.” She shook her head. “The place we’re going – Robards’ knows him from the good ol’ Order days. And he seems to believe the guy has a personal stake in keeping you alive.”

Harry looked intrigued. “Where are we going?”

“Cambridge.”

Harry thought for a moment, trying to figure out who he knew in Cambridge that would have an interest in keeping him alive. “I give up. Who’s in Cambridge?”

“Sirius Black.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned. “I haven’t seen Sirius since before the _Event_.”

“Robards seemed to think he was your uncle or something.” Ginny looked confused.

“He and my dad were best friends. I’m pretty sure he’s my godfather, but they had something of a falling out after the _Event_ ,” Harry explained.

Ginny nodded in understanding. After all, the _Event_ changed everyone.

“So.” They looked over and saw Luna standing at the door, small shovel in hand and covered in dirt. “It looks like you two managed to take care of that nargle infestation on your own.”

“Yes, thank you Luna.” Ginny laughed, and Harry felt himself smiling at the sound.

“So, when do we go?” Harry asked.

“It’s not far, but I want to ditch my car before we get there; so we’ll take a bit of a detour. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

* * *

_London_

“I don’t understand, why are we taking the non-magical entrance?” Pansy asked as they got out of the cab on the relatively quiet London street, going down a short stairwell and entering the club.

Daphne sighed. “Ginny gave instructions, but the magical entrance seemed a bit difficult. Besides, Harry said the magical one was really just for show. I don’t think it matters – it’s all the same club.”

Daphne had apparently forgotten it was Halloween, because as soon as they walked in, she was accosted by a veritable haunted house. She forgot herself for a moment, mesmerized by the false cobwebs, giant pumpkins, and mechanical spiders – a delightful combination of the magical and non-magical. “Oh Pansy! I completely forgot it was Halloween!” 

Pansy did her own wide-eyed stare and held Daphne’s hand for dear life as they entered the crowded club, which was completely filled with costumed party-goers. The club floor was a sea of monsters and princesses dancing under the magically lit ceiling, with an occasional streak of fake lightning streaming down and causing the entire place to flash.

Daphne returned Pansy’s grip and pulled her through the crowd. She was awed by the normalcy of the scene, dumbfounded that such a moment could exist in their world – in a world where _Harry Potter had died_ . She thought about what Harry’s father said, about how they were waiting for the world to be better before they lived. If she took Harry’s parliament seat, is that what she would be doing – sacrificing personal happiness for a better future? She looked around at the throngs of clubbers who were completely oblivious to her inner turmoil, her _grief_. 

Pansy looked at her and squeezed her hand, giving her a look that said ‘ _stop thinking and have fun_.’ 

Daphne felt the tears that had been silently streaming down her face and wiped at them, taking a deep breath to compose herself. _Let the decisions and reality wait until tomorrow_. 

Having finally worked their way towards one of the bars, the pair grabbed two seats just as a couple of costumed cats departed. They sat facing the crowds; Daphne watched plastic witches floating comically in the air, while Pansy became suddenly distracted by her phone.

“Daphne Greengrass,” came a voice from behind the bar.

She turned, and her eyes widened as she recognized the redhead and smiled. 

He gave her a hesitant grin.

“Ron Weasley,” Daphne smirked. “Bartending in _Weasleys_. What are the odds?” 

“Truly rare odds, indeed.” His smile widened as he gazed at her. He was dressed as an Auror, robe and all, paying tribute to a now-extinct magical career from the days long past. She imagined for a moment a world in which this man, who espoused the value of life and sport, were relegated to the life of a dark wizard catcher. She didn’t like that image; she thought of their debate at the football pitch, where he argued the importance of living for today rather than some theoretical future. His authenticity had been like a breath of fresh air compared to the politicians and lobbyists who seemed omnipresent in her line of work.

“I can’t believe this place,” Daphne remarked to him. 

Ron was mixing drinks as he responded, “It’s all Fred and George.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it!” 

“You know, the world was once like this – people celebrated and partied, and it was okay,” Ron told her, a glint in his eye. “We’ve already experienced the end of the world. It’s time we move on.”

“Move on?” Daphne frowned, her words coming out harsh.

“That’s not what I meant.” Ron’s tone softened. “I’m sorry about Harry, Daphne.”

Daphne nodded. “I don’t wish to think of politics or unhappy things tonight; but thank you.”

“Cheers then.” He placed three shots down, two of which magically floated to her and Pansy.

“What on earth is this?” Pansy looked at the drink with something like disdain.

“Oh no,” Ron said, eyes wide. “Pansy Parkinson?”

“Do I know you?” Pansy asked in the haughty way only she was capable of.

“…Nope.” He smiled and took his shot. “It’s firewhiskey, by the way.”

“Oh yes. A wizard’s drink,” Pansy drawled. She took her shot and grimaced for only a moment. “Well, bartender let’s have another. We’re here to forget our problems, right?”

Ron shook his head and complied. 

Daphne looked at her friend curiously before shrugging and taking another shot.

“So,” Daphne asked Ron once he was back in their vicinity, “where’s Ginny? I was hoping to see her here.”

He frowned momentarily. “She was reassigned – said she’ll be off the grid for awhile and isn’t sure when she’ll be back.”

“Hmm,” Daphne acknowledged, throwing back her third shot.

“You may want to slow down,” he told her with a slight smile.

Daphne knew he was right; her head felt light and her chest warm. “I’ve had a trying day.” 

He nodded, leaning over the bar and giving her his full attention. 

She looked down at her hands, sliding the shot glass from hand to hand, mesmerized by the soft _clink_ of glass against wood. “You know they want me to take Harry’s seat?” She saw Pansy give her a look out of the corner of her eye, but otherwise the other woman’s attention was firmly on her phone.

“Is that what you want?” Ron asked, a wave of his wand magically conjuring a pair of Butterbeers for them. 

“It’s not about what I want,” Daphne pointed out. “It’s about Harry’s legacy.”

“But what about you?” 

_Was she that transparent_ ? she wondered, considering him. “I’ve never had the luxury of thinking about what _I_ want. It’s always been about duty – to my country and to my family. At least politics is something I _know_ I’m good at.”

Ron was about to respond when intoxicated clubbers began clamoring for drinks. He looked at her regretfully, about to return to his vocation, when suddenly Pansy was next to him behind the bar. 

“If you’re not going to do your job, get out of the way,” she ordered. And, as if she had been a bartender her whole life, she began deftly taking orders and mixing drinks, the magical till humming in the background. 

Ron shook his head and laughed before ducking under the bar and taking Pansy’s now empty seat. Pansy subtly glanced their way, smirking slightly, before returning to her task.

“When I was young, all I wanted was to play Quidditch,” Ron began. “I remember after the WEA was founded and recreational riding was banned, I was _so_ angry and bitter. My parents died fighting for a better world, and there I was, a bitter teenager because I was banned from riding a _broom_. 

“But then I met this non-magical – some guy named Matt. I was out in a field by our family home practicing magic, and there he was – hobbling around and kicking a ball – as happy as could be! He looked utterly ridiculous, and then I realized he’d lost his _foot_ . Here I was, raging over what I had lost, but this boy, he had lost _so much more,_ but it didn’t matter to him. It made me realize, _I’m alive,_ and that’s what really matters.”

“But you’re fighting so hard to bring Quidditch back,” Daphne pointed out.

“Of course, but not because I’m angry it was taken away, or even to fulfill a childhood dream. People should be able to play games, fly on brooms, or just live their lives. Playing sports should be something that brings us together. And that conversation with Matt made me realize that things like flying or Quidditch matter,” he explained. “The point is, you’re alive Daphne. Never forget that. If becoming a magical representative is something that matters to you, then I think that’s great. But if you’re only doing this because you feel you have no choice...” he trailed off, placing his hand on her arm, his eyes boring into hers before he got up to take over for Pansy.

Daphne sat there, staring dumbly at the empty seat and wishing for a moment that his world could be her world. 

“So what did the ginger do to you?” Pansy asked, a martini dangling from her right hand.

“Oh, just gave me more of his delightful idealism.” She smiled.

“I think he fancies you.” Pansy smirked.

“How can you even say something like that?” Daphne looked horrified.

Pansy laughed. “I’ve known you and Harry for years. Please, darling.”

Daphne shook her head. “Were we really that transparent?”

“Yes.” Pansy looked briefly at the bartender, busy down at the other end of the bar but continuing to steal glances at Daphne. “But only to those of us who really know you.” She cleared her throat and changed topics. “So, you’re taking Harry’s seat?” 

“I really don’t feel there’s another choice.”

“No, I think you’re right.” Pansy placed her glass down gently and turned to her friend. “I’ve heard my father and his friends – the things they talk about.” She trailed off, lost in a memory.

“What is it, Pans?” Daphne queried.

“This is a terrible clubbing conversation,” Pansy pointed out.

“To be fair, I’m a terrible clubber.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Pansy agreed. “I don’t know exactly what they’re planning, but I get the feeling that there is _something_ going on. Just be careful. And remember –“

“Call you if I need blackmail material.”

Pansy smirked, “Right in one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my incredible beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl)
> 
> **Heads Up!** Next chapter is an interlude. As always, interludes are optional plot wise, but you'll get a feel for what Hermione/Draco's lives have been like on the run. 
> 
> You can also find me, poking at my laptop, on Tumblr, @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/)


	19. Chapter 19: Carry On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short interlude to give you an idea of what Hermione/Draco's lives have been like on the run.

_Interlude: Carry On_   
_20 km outside of Liverpool_   
_October 31, 2006_

Hermione watched Draco sleep, his cheek pushed against the window and a slight rivulet of drool escaping his mouth. He seemed so - innocent. So far removed from the monsters that still haunted her memory from that campsite 17 years ago.

She resisted the urge to brush a strand of hair behind his ear, reminding herself once again why she couldn’t trust him. But as they ventured from city to city - doubling back when one of them felt as though they were being followed - it grew more difficult to remember.

“Draco.” She gently patted his shoulder. She watched his eyes scrunch and his shoulders adjust as he returned to consciousness.

“It’s morning?” he asked with a yawn.

She nodded. “We should be in Liverpool in less than half an hour.”

He righted himself, cracking his neck and blinking a few times. “I never thought I’d miss being in the middle of nowhere,” he mumbled.

Hermione chuckled, nodding in agreement. “I always imagined when I returned to civilization it would be to go on holiday.”

“You don’t consider this a holiday?” he asked with a smirk. “We’ve certainly travelled a bit.”

“Yes, that’s true. Though I think I would prefer someplace warmer. Perhaps the south of France in the summer.” Her gaze flitted out the window, where she looked out at the rising sun with a sense of longing.

She felt constantly tense, never able to actually relax, always looking over her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Draco watching her, his gaze thoughtful.

“What?” she asked.

“Are you alright?” he asked, frowning slightly. 

It was telling how long they’d spent solely in each other’s company that he’d begun to pick up on such things. “I’m just stressed,” she told him finally.

He nodded, raising his eyebrows. “I have something that might help.” 

He handed her a bag of licorice. She blinked, accepting the candy, a small smile forming on her face.

“They’re my favorite,” she mumbled, opening the bag and taking one out, savoring the sweet treat. 

He shrugged. “Just swiped it in Derby.”

She shook her head. “You know, we shouldn’t shoplift unless _absolutely_ necessary.”

He seemed unbothered. “Well, I saw you eyeing those back in a shop in Aberdeen. You may say it’s unnecessary, but I believe sweets can solve all problems.” He dismissed her concerns, but he looked nervous regardless, eyeing her carefully. 

The rational part of her mind wondered if he was up to something. But another part of her, the part that found comfort in his inadvertent touches and the way he’d press his hands against her shoulders when she was tense, wondered if his nerves indicated something else.

She shook her head, clearing her mind of the errant thought. “Well, that’s very kind of you. But it’s unethical to simply _steal_ when it’s not necessary.”

“So then, how do you define when stealing is necessary?” He grabbed a licorice and popped it in his mouth.

She frowned; the line seemed obvious in her head, but she couldn’t quite find the right words. “Well, to survive I guess. So right now, we need non-magical disguises and food to survive - so I don’t see an issue with taking those things.”

“Alright; but then according to that logic we should only be taking just enough food to survive, right? And with the clothes we should take only the cheapest clothes.” He pointed out.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I see your point; but regardless, candy clearly falls outside of what is _necessary_.”

“Ah,” he smirked, “but _you_ need it. Perhaps your body doesn’t, but maybe your soul needs something sweet every once in a while.” As if to emphasize the point, he bit another piece of the candy, shutting his eyes and appearing to bask in the treat.

“But what if a person deems that for them to be okay, they need something more than a candy? Perhaps they need a car or a computer? Is stealing okay then?” She raised a single eyebrow.

He frowned. “So are people not provided such things automatically in the WEA?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. Things like a car are considered more of a luxury. We have social programs in place to help people who need food and housing. But for other things, a person must use their own funds. How is it with the Death Eaters?”

He shrugged. “We don’t exactly have tons of luxury items to begin with, but most things are allocated to us.”

She turned completely in her seat facing him. “That’s fascinating. I guess you can do that, though, with such a small society.” He had started blending in so well, she had moments where she would forget about where he came from. ”This world must be so strange to you.”

He gave her a slight smile. “It’s interesting.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Just interesting?” She tried to imagine how she would feel if she’d grown up in a small commune and suddenly experienced the broader world. She imagined words like “wonder” and “majesty” would cross her lips. 

He shrugged, looking out the window. “I didn’t really expect anything to be honest. We were only told everything outside of Hogsmeade is tainted by Muggles.” He looked vulnerable in a way that reminded her of their first days together. 

“So - what’s the verdict then?” she asked.

“Hmm?” He frowned.

“What do you think of the WEA?” She was curious, continuing to imagine what it would be like to see so many _people_ after being around the same small group his whole life.

He continued to look out the window, and Hermione fought the urge to grab his hand and force him to look at her. “It’s big,” he said finally and slowly turned towards her. “I guess it’s much more civilized than I could have imagined.”

“You expected us to have sticks and stones and to grunt at each other?” she suggested, chuckling at the mental image.

He shook his head. “Perhaps once upon a time. But once I met you, I guess I started expecting more.” His lip quirked.

“Why, Draco Malfoy, are you complimenting me?” She couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying you’re quite intelligent. You set quite a high bar for the rest of the world.” He was so aloof, his tone almost offensive, that it took a moment for her to process his words. 

“Thanks. You’re not too dumb yourself.” She nudged him with her shoulder.

He shook his head, laughing slightly and an automated recording came through the speakers:

_“Liverpool bus station.”_

“That’s us.” Hermione stood, watching Draco grab their minimal belongings with ease and trying to remind herself once again why she shouldn’t trust him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.


	20. Chapter 20

_Liverpool_   
_October 31, 2006_

“Shit,” Draco whispered, non-magical binoculars in hand as he peered through a bush.

“What is it?” Hermione grabbed the binoculars and looked in the same direction. “Shit.”

“Yes,” Draco drawled. “It seems they’ve followed us.”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “I think they just figured out where we were going.” The pair were staking out Hermione’s wizard mentor’s townhouse in Liverpool, having arrived earlier that morning. 

“Is that her?” Draco asked, pointing at the woman who appeared to be directing the others.

“If by ‘her’ you mean Colonel Longbottom, then, yes.” 

“Do you think she looks – angry?” Draco asked, eyebrows raised.

“Well, yes. Perhaps she’s embarrassed we managed to best her.” Hermione shrugged.

“You’ve seen enough?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, and the pair quietly backtracked, returning to the long-abandoned shop they were using as a base of operations. The shelves were empty; only a faded sign with the word _Boots_ stood dangling from the far wall, a reminder of a different world. Hermione immediately re-boarded the windows upon entering, placing her ear against the door and relaxing only when she confirmed they had not been followed.

Draco looked at her expectantly. They cut his hair short two days ago so that his signature blonde locks could stay hidden under a hat. He’d adapted to their life on the run, proving quite adept at shoplifting, which accounted for their evolving wardrobe of nondescript clothing and assortment of fresh food. His eyes were no longer wide at each stop; his demeanor had shifted seamlessly from the haughty Death Eater to a nameless, faceless non-magical. 

A part of Hermione was impressed - perhaps even relieved he was proving a valuable ally. But she was also wary, wondering when the other shoe would fall, so to speak.

“I saw my mentor outside talking to Longbottom; I don’t think he looked too happy with their presence,” Hermione pointed out.

“So, you think if we approach him, he won’t turn us in?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” She mulled the situation over for another minute. “I think we need to send him a message. Ask him to meet somewhere we can stake out; that way, we can make sure the situation is safe.”

“Good plan. Only problem is we can’t get within 50 meters of him with all the Corps officers everywhere,” Draco pointed out.

“Argh.” She massaged her head. They had made it this far, evading Corps checkpoints and generally staying firmly in the shadows. This was it. She couldn’t think of anywhere else to go; there was no one she could think of whom she trusted more. And that really rankled – in this world where she trusted no one, she found herself inadvertently putting more and more of her faith in _Draco Malfoy_. 

In spite of all the reasons she knew it was a terrible idea, she found herself continuously counting on him to have her back; relying on his counsel to bounce ideas off of; and depending on his general cynicism to keep her tendency towards optimism in check. She could feel her heart trying desperately to accept this man and rationalize the discrepancies which, once upon a time, kept her up at night but which she now had to _remind_ herself of.

“What if we pay someone to deliver a message?” Draco suggested.

Hermione shook her head. “I’m out of cash.”

He smirked at her, pulling out a wallet she didn’t recognize. 

“Do I even want to know?” she asked.

“I just happened upon it.” He shrugged, not the least bit guilty, even after their discussion on the ethics of shoplifting on the bus ride.

“You are a man of rare talents, Draco Malfoy.” She smiled, shaking her head.

“Yes,” he drawled. “So? What do you think? Would my plan work?”

Hermione shook her head. “I imagine they’re monitoring his post and following him everywhere.”

“I _do_ have another idea, but it’s a bit of a long shot,” Draco started. “Have you ever heard of a patronus?”

Hermione perked up. “I believe I’ve read about them: very light magic, yes?”

He nodded. “They’re a specter a witch or wizard produces – typically as a sort of protection from dark magic or dark creatures. But they can also be used to send messages. If I can teach you to cast a patronus, then you can send your wizard mentor a message when he’s in his own house.”

Hermione frowned. “Why can’t you cast one?”

He shrugged and pointed to his left forearm where the Dark Mark lay covered by a cobalt blue long sleeved turtleneck. “Something about the mark prevents Death Eaters from casting it.”

Hermione’s frown turned clinical. “That’s fascinating!” She considered the phenomenon but had no immediate hypotheses, a rarity for her. 

“Yes, so if we’re going to have any luck, it will have to be you.”

“OK – what do I do?” she asked expectantly.

“I can only give you an academic understanding of the exercise. But, just to warn you, many witches and wizards are unable to form a fully corporeal patronus – so don’t feel bad if you can’t do it.” He knew his warning would do little good - she had unrealistic expectations of herself in every aspect of her life. 

He went over the spell and the wand motions and explained the need for a pure, happy memory.

She frowned. “What does that mean? What makes a happy memory pure? How do I know once I’ve found it?”

“Well, you’ll know you’ve found it once you’ve successfully created a patronus.”

“Of course – but how do I even know where to start?” She massaged her temples once again, fighting a raging headache caused by getting so little sleep as they went from town to town on their unintentional tour of Britain.

“As I mentioned, I personally have no experience in this matter.”

“Yet, I feel confident you have some idea or theory,” she pushed. This was the problem she was having so far with magic – there seemed to be so much dependency on memories, feelings, and other nebulous concepts. 

“I imagine ‘pure’ is less to do with the memory and rather more to do with the nature of the memory. So for instance, a serial killer would not be able to create a patronus by thinking of killing someone, since the act of the memory itself is dark, regardless of any happiness it provides the killer,” Draco explained.

“That helps.” She thanked him and shut her eyes, trying to find something that would qualify. She opened her eyes and nodded at Draco, taking his wand in her hand. 

_“Expecto Patronum,”_ she uttered clearly, her wand movements smooth and precise, but only the smallest wisp of silver escaped.

Draco looked moderately impressed. “That’s not bad, I think.”

“Not bad? You think?” Hermione was appalled.

“Well, yes. As I mentioned, many fully trained witches and wizards aren’t able to form a corporeal patronus. That was your first try and you managed to make _something_ happen.”

“But we don’t have time for this!” Hermione cried out.

“Stop complaining Granger, try again. Perhaps think of a happier memory.”

She frowned; the memory had been of the first time she had listened to “In My Life” by the Beatles. She was 13 years old, and the WEA was still relatively young. The Dursleys had gone to a neighbor’s, leaving their ‘ward’ at home. She had discovered the box of records in the attic only months earlier and had played the Beatles album _Rubber Soul_ . The moment had been like what she imagined a religious experience to be. She had shut her eyes, and it had been like she was at home, her _real_ home, her parents humming to the familiar beat with a young Hermione giggling in the background. 

Perhaps the memory was tainted by the uncertainty of her own mind. She thought now of a recovered memory: her parents taking her to the zoo on her 8th birthday. She had dragged that tattered otter everywhere she went, giving a play by play of every animal, listing their every strength and weakness, as her parents watched with an amused sense of pride.

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_ she cried this time, her voice a little louder. A more distinct blob formed, but it dissipated before turning into anything more substantial. Her arms fell in frustration. 

Draco walked over. “That was really good.” He rubbed his hands over her shoulders, massaging the knots and giving her reassurances. 

She couldn’t help herself – she leaned into his deft fingers, eyes closing at the relief of his touch. She had gone two years without anyone touching her, and now she found herself craving these moments of contact.

She shook herself, brushing his hands off and preparing to go again. Seeing Draco out of the corner of her eye, a memory came to her in that moment. It wasn’t anything substantial, just a single moment where she felt safe and at peace. She took a deep breath and cleared the doubt from her mind before she shouted, “ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_ A great silver bird escaped her wand, flying around them briefly before nuzzling next to Hermione, bringing her an unexpected calm before fading from existence.

“Holy shit!” Draco whispered.

“So now what?” She felt out of sorts, trying to understand why the specific memory she had chosen had worked.

“Now we stand in amazement that you just successfully cast a corporeal patronus two weeks after learning you’re a witch.” He smiled softly, his gaze lingering on hers with something like pride. She looked away, feeling uncomfortable under his stare.

“I’m a quick study.”

“No, you’re some sort of prodigy.” His tone was clearly impressed.

“What are you doing?” she snapped. “I don’t need your compliments and your – charm. What happened to the snarky Death Eater who thought everything was crap?”

“Are you seriously yelling at me for being nice to you?” he drawled.

“Yes! It’s – I don't know what to believe, Draco. I want to trust your intentions but - I can't,” she admitted. The patronus and the memory that had accompanied had shaken her.

His eyes flashed with hurt, and he stepped away from her, closing in on himself. After a moment, he turned back, his face composed and neutral, and he instructed her in a flat tone. “You should be able to instruct the patronus. If you ask it to deliver a message, it will,” he finished clinically.

“Alright.” Hermione moved a few aisles down the vacant store, finding her maps and scanning them over. “It looks like there’s a park here.” She pointed to a spot about half a kilometer from their current location. “I’ll ask him to meet us there at 1700 hours.”

“Won’t he be followed?” 

Hermione shrugged. “He’s a clever man – and was a Corps Lieutenant himself. If he wants to, he can lose them or find some way to get there. If not – well, I’ll have my answer.” She paused. “I think I should meet him alone.”

“What?” Draco eyes went wide.

“I need you to keep an eye on our surroundings; if it’s a trap, I’ll need you to get me out,” she explained logically. 

He nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_ she called out and beckoned the bird to her, giving it directions and watching with curiosity as it took off. “Well, let’s hope that worked.”

Hermione watched through binoculars as her wizard mentor took a seat on a park bench, his face currently covered by a newspaper. She looked around and so far had not seen any indication of the Corps nearby. Draco had yet to give the signal indicating trouble on his end so, with as much confidence as she could muster, she made her way to the man she once considered a close friend.

She had cut her hair and dyed it black, her sharp bangs and sunglasses blocking her eyes. She wore a form-fitting grey dress with boots, the entire ensemble completely unlike her. Sitting down next to him, she took care not to look at him and instead pulled out a book, feigning to be just another person in the park, enjoying the brisk fall day just before sundown.

“Thank you for meeting me, sir,” she told him, eyes glued to her book despite the desire to see her mentor’s face.

“Hermione.” He exhaled. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I’m not alright.” She swallowed and turned the page. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“You tell me,” he asked, folding up his newspaper and pulling out a pen as if to complete the crossword.

“I know that I’m a witch. Somehow my powers were bound, which seems to have inadvertently caused those around me to lose their powers. It seems the Corps found out about this and sent me to the middle of nowhere,” she rushed out.

The man paused, taking a deep breath before jotting a few things down with his pen. “I don’t know everything. I promise – I didn’t know you were a witch.”

“But you knew that I caused magic to go wrong?” she surmised.

He nodded. “Yes.”

She took the briefest of moments to look at him and caught a glimpse of guilt coloring his eyes. “I suspected that you must have said something to a superior that resulted in my isolation.”

“I didn’t know you were a witch,” he repeated, his voice genuine.

“I believe you.” She swallowed, tears threatening to spill. She had been afraid that perhaps he had been aware the whole time - possibly even assigned as her mentor _because_ of her ‘situation’. The relief she felt in that moment was palpable. “But you know something else, don’t you?”

“I don’t _know_ anything but –“ he paused, writing something on the paper. “I have my suspicions. Just vague things a friend once mentioned a lifetime ago.”

“What is it?” 

He shook his head before returning his focus to the paper. “Nothing concrete, nothing that would help, but I’ll give you a name.”

“Thank you,” she said, letting out an exhale.

“Are you with the Death Eater who escaped too?” he asked her.

“He helped me escape. And he’s helping me find answers.”

“You can’t trust him.” 

She could feel his eyes on her but kept her gaze focused on the words in front of her. “Don’t worry – I know.”

“I’m sorry, about everything. I wish there was more I could do,” he told her sadly.

“Well, there is one thing, sir. Do you have any idea where I can find a wand?”

He looked thoughtful, almost as if he were straining for the answer to a difficult clue. “I have an idea; he’s a bit eccentric, but he doesn’t bother himself with wand regulations or the Corps. When I leave here just grab my paper. I’ve written down everything you need,” he explained. “I’m glad you’re OK, and I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.” He stood up, leaving his paper on the bench as if he were just too lazy to throw it away.

“Thank you, Remus,” she said quietly. 

He didn’t look at her but nodded in acknowledgement. 

Hermione waited a few minutes before leaving, grabbing the newspaper as if it were a curiosity and walking calmly back to the abandoned store. 

Draco was waiting for her inside, looking at her expectantly. “So?”

“It was good,” she told him, emotionally spent. She slid down the wall to the right of the door, burying her head between her knees.

“What happened?” he replied. His tone was cold, likely in response to her admonishment earlier that day.

She looked up at him, rubbing her eyes and struggling to focus on his features. “He confirmed that he reported my – unique – impact on magic to his superiors. He had other suspicions but was unwilling to confirm them. He gave me a lead though. And an idea of where to get a wand.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Draco frowned. As far as he was aware, this was the best possible outcome: her mentor, Remus Lupin, had not willingly betrayed her, and he provided a lead.

“Yes, yes. It’s good,” she mumbled, sounding particularly tired.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is it going to end, Draco?” Her voice was suddenly firm, full of vitriol.

He took another step back. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just – we escape the Corps, then we go city to city. What if no one knows the truth? What if there are no answers?” She looked at him and he gazed back, his eyes concerned. She once more sought his comfort and proceeded to berate herself for the errant thought.

“OK – well, as you would say if you weren’t so exhausted, let’s think about it rationally.” He sat next to her, placing a solid foot of space between them. “We have a lead, so hopefully this guy knows something or, if not, then he can lead us elsewhere.”

“And what if he doesn’t? What if he has no idea who I am?”

“Then we find new leads. We know that someone in the Corps must know something, right?” Draco suggested.

“Or perhaps it was just a conspiracy to keep me away from magic users,” Hermione rebutted.

“I don’t believe that. If it was that simple, they would have completed tests, or done one of a million things. No – someone knows something. I was also thinking it may be worth a visit to the people that took you in after your parents died.”

“The Dursleys?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“Yes – perhaps they know something or recall something from when they first took you in.”

Hermione exhaled. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“See? There are still plenty of avenues left.”

“When did you become the optimistic one of us?” Hermione asked, dubious.

“Right around when you became a pessimist.” He smirked.

“Yes, what can I say. Having your entire world upended overnight tends to do that,” she pointed out.

“You get used to it, having your entire world turned upside down,” he reminded her. “So where to next?”

She pulled out the newspaper, scanning Lupin’s pen marks. On one of the crosswords, he had written _‘Wand’_ in the clue, and she found the corresponding entry on the crossword itself. “Well, looks like there’s a wand maker: someone named Jonker in Bath. I think we should go there first.”

She scanned the rest of the page, eventually finding a similar pattern where the clue was ‘ _Answers_ ’. “And then to Cambridge to see Sirius Black.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To help with the confusion surrounding all of the WEA terms and other oddities in this universe, I put together a short "WEA 101" guide on my Tumblr page. It includes: summary of the WEA government, key terms, key events and Corps rankings. You can find it [here](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/post/640573885164748800/finding-kallipolis-resource).

_Cambridge_  
_November 1, 2006_

“What is with all these checkpoints?” Harry asked, after the pair managed to evade yet another unexpected Corps officer interviewing pedestrians. They had left Ginny’s car at a bus station before grabbing a coach, Harry wearing an oversized hoodie to blend in. 

“Two Corps fugitives went missing in Aberdeen a week ago. You didn’t catch it on the news?” Ginny asked.

Harry shrugged. “Sounds familiar, but we’re far from Aberdeen.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what these two did, but it must have been bad,” Ginny mused.

“You’re not AWOL are you?” Harry frowned, suddenly concerned.

“No.” She chuckled. “I asked for some leave; it’s not uncommon to take time off after an assignment where you’re expected to be ‘on’ 24/7.”

“So.” He bumped his shoulder into hers. “You’re not even protecting me for your job. You’re just doing it because you like me.” He gave her a sly smile.

“Don’t be so full of yourself Potter,” she smirked. “I’m doing this for fame.” She fanned her face dramatically.

“Of course you are.” He shook his head, amused, and nudged her lightly with his elbow, as they walked onto a side street with old brick townhouses up and down both sides. “You were stationed here once, weren’t you?”

“Right before I met you,” she confirmed, leading him to a door painted with the number _167._ “You ready for this?” Harry nodded, and Ginny knocked, now on high alert as she listened to the footsteps come closer to the door.

“Yes?” A man — Sirius Black presumably — answered, appearing quite disheveled and slightly inebriated.

“We’re here for the bed and breakfast,” Ginny stated evenly. Harry frowned, but she ignored him.

“Well, come in then; watch the plants.” He opened the door further, and Harry noticed there were no plants. Ginny's shoulders relaxed and Harry smiled, figuring the interaction was some sort of code. He felt strangely excited, like he was in some sort of spy movie.

The house was... eclectic. The living room, notably larger than the small space outside would have indicated, contained an array of mismatched furniture from different eras. Bookshelves of different shapes and sizes stood scattered against the walls, and outdated periodicals seemed to be stacked in piles on every available space. An old television sat in the corner, though it was covered in wizarding robes. Any free wall space was covered in faded wizarding portraits and paintings. 

“Sorry, don’t really get visitors,” Sirius slurred and gestured around the room, stumbling a bit as he turned. “Take any room but mine.” 

Harry turned his focus from the room to its owner. He vaguely recognized Sirius from childhood memories, recalling the man being close with his father and something like an uncle to him. But Sirius seemed older than he would have expected; his hair was grey and scraggly, as though he couldn’t be bothered to wash or cut it. He wore a beard and mustache that had a similar effect. His face bore every line of his age; though what really got to Harry was the man’s eyes – he looked haunted. He had seen that same look in his father from time to time.

“Sirius?” Harry approached the man. He hadn’t necessarily been expecting a _warm_ welcome, but he had expected at least an acknowledgement of his existence. “I’m not sure if you remember me...” he trailed off, not quite sure what to say.

Sirius looked at him, recognition in his eyes quickly replaced by apathy. “Of course: James’ boy. Congrats on being alive, kid.” He gave Harry an awkward arm slap and grabbed a magazine, some long ago discontinued publication called _The Quibbler._

“Come on.” Ginny tugged at Harry’s arm, urging him to follow her up the stairs.

A few paintings called out as they passed, apparently surprised to see Sirius had guests at his house. The second floor didn’t appear to have any bedrooms – just a library (Harry wondered what one man could possibly need so many books for), an office with an antiquated ‘90s-era computer that was covered in clutter, and a multi-purpose room filled with boxes and antiques. 

The third floor hallway seemed impossibly long. Harry counted six doors on each side, and he started cracking each open, pleasantly surprised to find the first room on the left was a guest room that was not in complete disarray. It consisted of a bed, night stand, and dresser. While there were no boxes or magazines laying about, the walls were covered in tapestries, and a solid layer of dust covered most of the surfaces.

Ginny shook her head at the state of the room. “I’ll stay here. I want to be able to hear if anyone comes up the stairs. Hopefully the room next door is habitable.” 

The next room ended up being a bathroom, which was functional even though it looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. Ginny scrunched her nose and whipped out her wand, completing a series of cleaning charms until the space was usable. 

Eventually, they identified a room that Ginny deemed acceptable for security purposes. Harry realized that, other than a few pieces of oversized clothes Luna had lent him, he didn’t exactly have anything to unpack. He felt somewhat useless; he needed Ginny to _Scourgify_ a few of the surfaces for him because he couldn’t risk using his own wand, since all registered wands in the WEA could be easily traced and monitored.

“So, what now?” Harry asked Ginny, standing at the threshold of her room, hands in his pockets.

“We wait.” 

Harry looked incredulous. “Really? That’s it?”

She shrugged. “Yes – the whole point of a _safe house_ is it’s a place you’ll be _safe_.” She placed an unnecessary level of emphasis on the word, apparently unclear if he would understand. “What did you think we would be doing?”

“Oh, I dunno. Solving my murder?”

“Yes. Let’s go interview subjects and take a look at the evidence. Good thinking, Harry,” she deadpanned. 

Harry rolled his eyes and looked at the tapestries adorning the walls. “This place is a bit – odd.” 

Ginny looked thoughtful. “Yes, I had a great aunt who was quite the hoarder. If I had to guess, it looks like he’s tried to cram everything the Blacks have ever owned into this place.” 

“I was expecting him to be a bit more…” 

“More?” Ginny suggested, with a knowing smile.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I know he and my dad had a big falling out, but I just remember him being so – _fun_! He was the one who took me flying and to ice cream shops in non-magical London, back when we had to hide from Voldemort.”

“The _Event_ changed us all in the end,” Ginny reflected. She eyed Harry, who appeared to be lost in old memories. 

Harry shook himself from his reverie. “We should see about dinner, yeah? I have a feeling we’ll be on our own.”

The pair was surprised to discover the kitchen was unlike any other room in the house. While the appliances and cabinetry seemed native to whatever decade the house itself had been built, each surface was impeccably clean. In fact, a bowl of freshly chopped fruit sat on the edge of one countertop, and it appeared some sort of meat was marinating on another. Ginny and Harry looked at one another, confused, before jumping at the sound of a high-pitched voice. 

“Master has guests! Oh joy! Can Dobby get guests anything?” The small creature, his eyes big and expectant, looked at the gawking pair.

“You’re a house elf!” Ginny remarked dumbly, a rather comical expression marking her face. “Mum always wanted a house elf when we were younger – dead expensive though.”

“Hi Dobby.” Harry smiled at the creature who seemed to beam at being addressed. “I’m Harry, and this is Ginny. We’re staying here with Sirius for a while.” 

It was quite amazing to see a house elf; most of them vanished after the _Event_ , presumably to various forests and hidden dimensions with the rest of Britain’s magical creatures. Very few magical families had house elves any more, and there were substantial regulations ensuring their rights. Magical creatures remained a point of contention between the different political factions in the WEA, and Harry once again felt a pang of nostalgia as he wondered what was happening back in Parliament without him. 

“Dobby is so pleased to meet you! You need anything, just call Dobby. Master doesn’t like me in his rooms, except the kitchen.” Dobby shivered, as though horrified by this fact. “But Dobby can clean _your_ rooms! Yes – Dobby will do that.” And before they could object, he vanished with a snap of his fingers.

“I’ve never seen a house elf!” Ginny turned to Harry.

Harry scratched at his head. “I’ve seen a few over the years. Some of the older families still have them; they still think it’s a sign of superiority.”

Ginny shrugged. “I’m going to call Robards; I’ll catch up with you in a bit.” She smiled as he left her alone in the kitchen.

Harry wandered back into the living room, noticing Sirius focused on something in a magazine, holding it just an inch from his face. Harry cleared his throat to make his presence known. “Er, thank you for letting us stay here.”

Sirius pulled his face out of the magazine and blinked at Harry. “Gotta debt to repay,” he grunted. 

“Still, we appreciate it.” Harry looked closely at the man, taking a nearby seat. “I remember you from when I was younger.”

“Ah. yes,” Sirius drawled, his face buried in the magazine again. “The good ol’ days.” He said this last part mockingly, as if he disagreed with the epithet.

Harry frowned. “Sure,” he tentatively agreed. Unable to leave well enough alone, he continued, “I’m sorry you and my dad lost touch.” 

That finally elicited a response. Sirius paused his reading, closed the magazine, and turned to Harry, his haunted eyes staring directly into Harry’s green ones. “You have your mother’s eyes,” Sirius remarked at first, almost by accident, before shaking himself and addressing Harry’s comment. “Is that what James told you? That we ‘lost touch’?” He appeared amused.

Harry considered this for a moment. “He never really told me anything; I just assumed you left the country or something.”

Sirius laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, or _something,_ ” he muttered under his breath before returning to his magazine.

“Sirius!” 

Harry startled as Ginny entered the room. 

“Can we use the telly?” she asked.

Sirius grunted and gestured towards the old television — agreement enough for the witch, who immediately jogged towards it, placing the old robes on a nearby chair and turning its various knobs in an attempt to find a channel. 

“What’s going on, Gin?” Harry asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

She was now moving the antennas, gently toggling them back and forth in hopes of getting decent reception. “Robards indicated that he and Fox are investigating who paid the French Fundamentalist to try and kill you – but they have nothing concrete yet. That’s not too surprising, given how notoriously opaque French banks are,” Ginny explained. “But he also mentioned Parliament is in a bit of a state: wizards are blaming non-magicals for your death. The Isolationist and Separatist factions are capitalizing on it, and they’re working together to appoint Elijah Parkinson to your seat.”

“Seriously?” Harry looked appalled. He turned away from her to watch the television, which Ginny had finally gotten to work; a reasonably clear black and white image filled the screen. 

The TV news anchor, Malcolm Flint, said something similar to Ginny’s comments regarding Separatists trying to take over Harry's seat. He leaned forward and listened intently.

_“There are many in the magical community who are scared. Harry Potter, a member of the progressive faction, was known for being an idealist, but many are wondering if it’s not time for a more pragmatic leader. Elijah Parkinson, who recently reached out to the English Parliament Delegation to be considered for Potter’s empty seat, has taken to the streets, assuring the general populace he will maintain the spirit of Harry Potter and avenge his death._

Flint paused and narrowed his eyes at something that seemed to have suddenly appeared on his parchment _. “It seems Mr. Parkinson has a rival; I have just received word that Daphne Greengrass, who many know as the late Harry Potter’s fiancée and the daughter of Magitech’s Anton Greengrass, has indicated she plans to fight for her fiancée’s seat. In a statement to the press – this is a direct quote – ‘Harry had the singular ability to bring people together. He had hope that through cooperation, we could make the world a better place. I plan to honor that legacy, and speak out on behalf of all of the people’._

_“Our sources indicate the English Parliament Delegation leaders will be meeting tomorrow, so we will not have to wait long for an answer. If Parkinson is selected, the Separatist and Isolationist factions will overtake the Progressive and Moderate factions within the wizarding section of Parliament._

_“Some members of the Isolationist faction have begun questioning the WEA’s current approach to addressing the birth rate issue. They have pointed out that, in the last few weeks, the birth rate has dipped to 0. They are seeking to establish separate wizarding and non-wizarding facilities and teams to address the matter, believing that working together has obscured the data. While not a scientist myself, I have to say, this does make a lot of sense.”_

“Turn it off,” Harry directed, staring straight at the TV. “I have to go back.”

Sirius laughed at this – a deep belly laugh. “You’re joking?”

“They’ve completely used my death to push an agenda they _know_ would horrify me! Parkinson is looking to _avenge my death?_ What does that even mean?” Harry ranted, rubbing at his eyes and pacing the living room, avoiding piles of old newspapers and boxes. “What if the Separatists actually succeed in getting Parkinson appointed? If the Separatists and Isolationists obtain a majority, they could effectively legislate a division of the magical and non-magical. This could be the end of the WEA!"

“Harry.” Ginny looked at him sympathetically. “Someone tried to kill you – _twice_. They nearly succeeded the second time. I know it’s hard, but you have to stay here.”

“No, Ginny.” Harry shook his head. “My life is not worth – that.” He pointed at the TV.

Ginny’s tone grew serious. “Flint’s a good ol’ boy – I’m sure he’s getting paid to push Parkinson’s agenda. But you heard what he said: Daphne’s planning to fight for your seat. And everyone knows she was the brains behind you, so I can’t imagine the English Parliament Delegation will pick anyone but her. And you trust Daphne, right?”

Harry took a calming breath. “Of course.”

“Very good.” She rubbed his arm and gave him a soft smile. “The best thing we can do is let this play out; I know it’s hard, but hopefully something is happening back home that will help Robards and Fox figure out who’s got it out for you.”

“I don’t like feeling useless,” Harry mumbled.

“You two are _very_ intense,” Sirius commented with a sort of whimsical smile, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. “I think I like you guys.”

“Thank you?” Harry responded, a light laugh leaving his throat as he saw a glimpse of the man who haunted the back of his memories.

Dobby popped into the living room, announcing dinner and causing Ginny and Harry to jump at his sudden appearance. Sirius chuckled at them again, and this time Harry noticed his eyes seemed a bit less dark.

Dobby led them into a formal dining room Harry didn’t recall from their earlier tour of the house; though, given the magic evident, perhaps it had merely been hidden. The room was well cared for and consisted of a cherry wood table with seating for ten and a crystal chandelier hanging above it. Against the walls were tasteful paintings, depicting various scenes from myth. 

Harry looked down at his too baggy clothes and felt a moment of self-consciousness before remembering the dilapidated state of their host.

“Dobby’s _very_ happy to have guests,” Sirius told them, sitting down and immediately filling his plate from the small feast laid out in front of him. 

Harry sat across from him, making a point to thank Dobby, who looked ready to break down in tears of happiness at the compliment. 

“So, Sirius,” Ginny started, “can you tell us how you have a house elf?”

“Hmm,” Sirius started, an amused glint in his eye, “he was actually a Malfoy elf. Showed up here after the _Event;_ guess he was looking for them. Anyways, he never left. Dobby’s a bit odd – even for an elf.”

“And all the – stuff?” Harry asked.

“I’m the last Black.” He shrugged but gave no further explanation. 

The three ate dinner in more or less companionable silence until, surprisingly, Sirius broke it, giving Harry a very intense look. “You know, you’re nothing like your father.”

“Thank you?” Harry answered.

“You and James don’t get along?” Sirius asked.

Harry shrugged. “We get along... _fine_. But he hasn’t really been much more than a shrewd political advisor to me for a long time.”

Sirius looked a bit perplexed but nodded, seeming to reevaluate Harry. “You just look so much like him.” 

A smile pulled at Harry’s lips, and he felt as though he and Sirius had reached a sort of truce - or maybe just a new beginning.

Harry considered that perhaps being stuck in Cambridge wouldn’t be so terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. 
> 
> Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> As always, I appreciate all reviews/comments/emotions/theories/gifs.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.

_London_   
_November 2, 2006_

_‘You’ve got this. Don’t worry. – Pans’_

Daphne stared at the text, holding on to her phone tightly in an effort to keep from fidgeting. She watched the clock, the second hand moving agonizingly slow, its monotonous “ _tic – tic – tic”_ playing in her ears. She tried to ignore the occasional barks of laughter coming from the adjoining room, where Elijah Parkinson was currently making a case for his appointment to Harry’s seat. 

She tried to stop her imagination from running rampant: _‘Oh, Mr. Parkinson, you’re just like us, please join us!’_ She shook herself, forcing a more positive mantra to the front of her mind: _You are smart, you have been the brains behind Harry’s policy agenda, and you can effectively represent the intentions of the people who voted Harry into office._

“Ms. Greengrass?” Her thoughts were interrupted by Percy Weasley, looking down at her with his typical patronizing gaze. She got up and watched as Parkinson shook hands with the delegation leaders – all smiles and _‘oh, just give them my name at the club’_ as he made his way out, giving her a subtle snarl before whistling towards the elevator. Daphne took a deep breath to steady herself before following the redhead into the room.

She had dressed methodically for this, wearing a conservative black suit with a green tie – harking back to another time when witches were expected to wear such things. There were three English delegation leaders in this session: two were magical and just one non-magical. All three represented more moderate factions, so none would necessarily side with her, but the two magicals were older; and if there was one thing she learned from her father, it was that the older generation was prone to bouts of nostalgia. 

“Thank you very much for coming in, Ms. Greengrass,” Senior Representative Marchbanks nodded. “On behalf of the WEA Parliament, we are very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you all for agreeing to receive me.” Daphne gave a small curtsy before sitting down. “While losing Harry was devastating for me personally, I believe it was an even greater loss to this body,” she finished with a tight smile.

“Yes, a tragedy,” Representative Cornelius Fudge drawled, his eyes pausing boorishly on her chest before making eye contact. “We understand you wish to be considered for Harry Potter’s open position. Can you please tell us why?”

“Of course.” She smiled, alternating her gaze between the three representatives. “Harry Potter was more than simply an effective member of this body: he was an icon to both the magical and non-magical communities. He believed, above all else, in the WEA – that it was the best chance we had to move forward. I believe whoever takes Harry’s seat needs to follow his vision and share his goals.

“I have been by Harry’s side every moment since his election, drafting policy and helping him to effect real change. I do not imagine for one second that I can replace Harry; he had something that comes once in a generation. But I can ensure the intentions of the people who voted for Harry are truly represented. Since Harry’s death, there has been hate echoed throughout the city: a condemnation of all non-magicals for the actions of a few fundamentalists. Harry’s political opponents have managed to use his death to try to drive a wedge between the magicals and non-magicals. These people are attempting to make the world forget what Harry truly believed in, and he would be utterly horrified to see his death used in this way.”

She paused, watching the three members’ reactions. Marchbanks appeared thoughtful, her eyes misty, while Fudge took notes and looked distinctly bored. The non-magical, Frederick Davies, gave her a small smile and an encouraging nod. “I promise that if selected to fill Harry’s seat until the next election, I will dutifully serve the Alliance, to the best of my abilities,” she finished, leaning back slightly in her seat.

“Thank you, Ms. Greengrass,” Davies spoke.

“Ms. Greengrass,” Fudge drawled without missing a beat, earning an almost imperceptible eye roll from Marchbanks, “we appreciate that you were engaged to the late Mr. Potter. But other than being close with him, what makes you qualified to be a representative to the WEA?”

Daphne blinked once, then again, before counting to three and taking a deep breath. She could feel the anger rising in her neck and willed herself to remain calm – after all, it would not do to look _emotional_. “Thank you for asking, Representative Fudge.” She smiled sweetly at him. “I’m happy to share my credentials. I have a Masters Certification in public policy from the London Institute. Following graduation, I was an intern with Representative Ramm-“

“The non-magical Representative Ramm?” Davies interrupted.

Daphne nodded. “Yes. I was an intern for a year before I joined Harry’s campaign as a political advisor. Once Harry was elected, I was appointed his chief policy advisor and have since been integral to defining Harry’s policy agenda and supporting the overall legislative platform of the Progressive faction.”

“Yes, Ms. Greengrass. We understand. But how does that make you qualified?” Fudge questioned her again, a glint in his eye.

_He’s trying to rile you up,_ Daphne reminded herself. She took another breath and gave him an almost airy smile as she responded. “Mr. Fudge, please do not mistake my relationship with Mr. Potter for some kind of weakness. I don’t stand here today as a grieving fiancée. I’m here because it’s my civic duty. I was by Harry’s side every step of his campaign and throughout his time in Parliament. 

“But when he went home, _I_ remained in the office – editing legislation, gathering votes, researching and responding to queries from the populace. Don’t forget, Harry was elected at the age of _24_ with no credentials. I understand this is an appointment and not an election, so the circumstances are different but please – do not underestimate me.”

Fudge’s eyes flashed in anger before he gave her a false smile and cleared his throat. “Very well, Ms. Greengrass, thank you for your time.”

* * *

The committee narrowly voted her into the vacant position, with Marchbanks and Davies in support and Fudge opposed.

Daphne sat on a bench outside the Parliament building, her suit jacket dangling over her briefcase, tie loosened, and previously stock straight blonde hair now stuffed in an elastic on top of her head. She closed her eyes, the bitter cold November day like a balm. She had been successful but still – she felt torn between apprehension about tomorrow and elation over her victory today.

“Daphne?” A voice called out and she turned, smiling at the sight of Ron Weasley.

“Ron.” Daphne stood up to give him a hand shake while simultaneously Ron leaned in to give her a hug, leading to an awkward sort of half hug. “What brings you here?”

As if answering her question, she watched him wave goodbye to Viktor Krum who, noticing Daphne, sent a polite nod her way before heading in the opposite direction. “Just met with Krum to talk broomsticks.” 

“Did it go well?” Daphne asked, sitting back down and attempting to tame her disheveled appearance. 

He shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like Parliament has time for broomstick regulation at the moment.” He sat down next to her, looking up to the sky and giving the rain clouds a good stare. “So, I understand congratulations are in order?”

“Either congratulations or ‘are you mad?!’” she quipped.

“Who called you mad?”

“Oh, just myself. I’m fully aware of the horrors of politics yet, nonetheless, I’ve decided to subject myself to the madness,” Daphne explained.

Ron opened his mouth to respond when the first drops of rain fell. He stared back again at the sky, as if willing the rain to stop, but the rain just came down harder. “Would you want to grab a cup of coffee with me?” 

“OK,” she responded without really thinking, standing up and transfiguring a lipstick from her bag into an umbrella. A peal of thunder brought with it a downpour, and the pair found themselves practically jogging down the street, comically out of breath as they entered the small café, drenched. A device at the door triggered a charm that dried their clothes, and the pair took a seat. 

Daphne wrung water out of her hair and shivered slightly, a soft laugh in the back of her throat. “I can’t remember the last time I ran in the rain.”

“That’s probably for the best; typically spending time in a downpour leads to pneumonia.” Ron smirked, running a hand through his damp hair. “So, how have you been?” 

“Oh, since you got me drunk two days ago?” she questioned.

“I seem to recall distinctly advising you to slow down.” He smiled.

“Potato, potahto.” She smirked briefly before her lips turned downward. “It seems you appear on my most trying days.”

“Trying?” 

“Mm-hmm. I had to justify my appointment before the delegation today.” Daphne raised her eyebrows.

Ron grabbed the parchment on the end of the table and marked down his coffee order before handing it to Daphne. Once she had put in her order, the ink disappeared, and the parchment rolled up and stood next to the napkins at the center. “It was bad?” he guessed.

“Not bad necessarily,” Daphne considered, grabbing one of the creamers and flipping it absentmindedly in her right hand. “One member of the council more or less implied that being Harry’s fiancée was not reason enough to appoint me to Parliament, completely ignoring the fact that I was functionally his second in command,” she ranted.

“Let me guess – old wizard, formerly on the Wizengamot?” He gave her a boyish smile.

“Perhaps,” she confirmed, taking one of the coffees and adding her creamer, luxuriating in the warm drink.

“Well, you must have said something right.” He looked at her, his finger magically swirling his drink. “Are you happy?”

“Sorry?” 

“I mean, you got the appointment, are you happy?” he pushed.

“I don’t know,” she responded honestly, head tilted to the side. “I would _not_ have been happy if Elijah Parkinson had been appointed, so there’s that. And if I’m honest with myself, as much as I abhor politics, I do enjoy the rest of it: actually legislating and working with others to find compromise. Harry was always good at speech making and had passion, but for me it was about the work.”

“Huh,” he nodded thoughtfully, “I never thought about it like that.”

“Let me guess – you could never enjoy an office job? You find happiness in the feeling of being free, knowing that you could up and leave tomorrow and backpack across the continent if you so chose?” Daphne suggested.

“That is – quite spot on.” Ron looked impressed.

“About once every few months, Harry would go on a kick like that,” Daphne explained. “He would talk about quitting whatever he was doing at the time and just taking a sabbatical. He would get this look in his eye, like he yearned for an adventure. I guess I see that look in you.”

“Why didn’t he?” Ron asked quietly.

“Oh...” Daphne smiled lightly. “All sorts of reasons. Duty of course, but I think at the end of the day, you both are – or were – quite different. I think for him, he needed to know he was doing everything in his power to affect the world – often to his own detriment. He was a bit of a zealot in a way.”

Ron frowned. “You really cared for him.”

“Yes,” Daphne confirmed, looking down at her drink. She wondered if he had suspected something brewing between Harry and Ginny as well. “He was my best friend. We didn’t feel more than that for each other, if I’m being honest; our relationship was strictly for show.

“But he also had a bit of a hero complex that drove me up a wall.” She took a sip of her coffee and looked Ron in the eye. “So, how are you? I feel like we’re always talking about my problems.”

“I’m boring. Just bartending and putting together football games.” He shrugged.

“Really? That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” Daphne leaned in now, skeptical.

“I have six siblings; we have to spread out the drama.” He managed to raise a single eyebrow.

She laughed. “Well, can you at least tell me why you freaked out when you saw Pansy?”

Ron shifted, looking uncomfortable for the first time. “Er...”

“Oh, come on! Now you absolutely _have_ to tell me,” she begged.

Ron sighed and leaned in, their faces barely six inches apart. “If I tell you, you have to swear never to tell a soul. If you repeat what I say, I _will_ hunt you down.” 

She gave the sign of zipping her mouth and throwing out the key. 

Satisfied, he continued, “So, I have a brother, Charlie. He works for a non-profit, helping to ensure the continued rights of magical creatures. Well,” he paused, his face turning red as he worked himself up to continue, “it seems that both Charlie and Elijah Parkinson were at a fundraiser and they both got drunk and fell into bed together...” Ron let her fill in the rest.

“Now, that would’ve been funny enough,” Ron continued, “given Parkinson’s staunch conservatism; but apparently, _during the act_ , Pansy walked in, camera in hand and started taking pictures.” Ron backed away a few inches, shrugging his shoulders with a knowing smirk.

Daphne literally spat out her coffee. “No!”

“Yes.” 

“She told me she had blackmail on her father, but I had no idea!” Daphne was giggling, her hand covering her face. “I know it’s not that funny but, oh my!”

“No, it’s hilarious! Charlie thought so as well. Apparently, he called and asked Pansy for copies,” Ron chuckled.

“He didn’t!” Daphne was in near hysterics, imagining Pansy having a conversation about such photos. “Pansy will never cease to amaze me.”

They both looked down and noticed their empty drinks. Daphne realized she was far more relaxed than she had been just an hour earlier. “Thank you,” she told him. At his confused glance she continued, “I feel – well, much better now. I’m not sure what it is, but whenever we speak, I can’t help but tell you everything on my mind.”

“Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.” He smiled, and she felt her neck go warm.

“Oh,” she said, eyes wide, “that reminds me, um—” she pulled out her phone “—perhaps we should exchange numbers? Rather than count on chance to keep pushing us together?” She cringed as soon as the words tumbled from her mouth.

But Ron’s grin just grew. “I’d like that.”

* * *

Robards and Fox arrived at a nondescript office building. After countless inquiries, they had finally identified who transferred funds to the French Fundamentalists claiming responsibility for Potter’s attacks. 

“Are we sure this is the right location?” Robards asked, standing outside a plain door that would most likely lead to an empty office.

“Yes. Records show a _Heather T. Steade_ pays the rent each month on this place – 800 Alliance big ones.” Fox shrugged, knocking on the door. “Ms. Steade, we are investigators from the Justice Department; we would appreciate you answering a few questions for us,” he called out from the hallway.

“Hmm,” Robards commented, putting his ear to the door dramatically. “I feel like I hear someone crying out for help.” The lie slipped from his lips easily.

“Oh, yes,” Fox agreed, and he stepped back as Robards magically opened the door. “Well, good news is, it’s not empty.”

They entered a small and un-noteworthy office that had clearly been vacant for some time. A desk sat in front of the window, a small layer of dust covering its empty surface. Two chairs sat in front, while a nearly empty bookshelf stood to one side.

Fox automatically put on a pair of gloves and walked around. “Well, this is – interesting,” he commented, frowning at one of the few books on the bookshelf.

“What is it?” Robards came up and grimaced. “She has the _Pureblood Manifesto_?”

“It’s quite popular,” Fox pointed out.

“Sure, and I expect most people with large libraries to have a copy. But when it’s one of your only books...” Robards trailed off.

“It is odd.” Fox, who had been young at the time of the _Event_ and ignorant of the magical world, was not particularly concerned.

“OK, what do we know about Steade?” Robards asked before ducking down to search the floor, in case a loose paper or business card had fallen.

“Not much. Beyond her bank account, which shows that she made a payment to the French Fundamentalists responsible for the bombs and paid the rent for this office space, I haven’t been able to find any records on her - from either before or after the _Event_.” He shrugged.

“How unusual is it to have no record trail in the non-magical world?” Robards asked.

Fox considered. “It’s fairly rare. Before the _Event,_ typically documentation was required to do anything. While our records weren’t perfect when the UK joined the WEA, I would still have expected to find something if she were a non-magical.”

“So your conclusion is she’s likely a witch?” Robards surmised.

“No.” Fox shook his head. “I think there are too many alternative possibilities. She could be an American; Steade feels like an American name to me. I’ve also heard of some non-magicals who broke into government facilities during the dark years to remove or change their records.”

“So, what you’re telling me is we’re back to square one,” Robards confirmed.

Fox nodded. “There are still a few more databases I have queries into but, yes, this does feel like a dead end.”

“Potter won’t be pleased,” Robards mumbled under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two songs are played in this chapter: "Champagne Supernova" and "Wonderwall" by Oasis.

_Bath_  
_November 4, 2006_

“I think I’m in love,” Hermione sang, eyes wide and hand stroking the vine wood delicately.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Draco asked, amused.

Following Remus’ suggestion, Hermione and Draco had made their way to Bath to find the wand maker named Jonker. The pair had spent the better part of the morning finding the underground black market where Jonker sold unregulated wands, amongst an assortment of other magical items. Hermione had to drag Draco away from the brooms, pointing out that even if they could afford one (which they couldn’t), he wouldn’t be able to ride it. She recalled their conversation from several hours ago:

* * *

_“Besides, why would you want to be so far up in the air?” She shuddered._

_“Are you kidding, Granger?” Draco scoffed. “There’s nothing like it – the feel of the wind on your face, the utter speed, the sensation of being up high. It’s incredible.”_

_Hermione frowned. “Can you all just ride brooms whenever you want?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“I don’t know if you noticed, but people don’t fly brooms here—” she waved around them, “—after a series of Isolationist attacks on non-magicals, Parliament banned recreational broomsticks. Some members of the Corps and Justice are authorized to use them, but strictly for business.”_

_“That’s horrible.” Draco frowned._

_“Yes, the Isolationists used to be quite violent.”_

_“Well, yes, that too. I meant not being able to fly. It feels unnatural, like a violation of a wizard’s freedom.” He shook his head._

_Hermione shrugged. “We all make sacrifices for peace.”_

* * *

Staring down at her new wand, Hermione remarked, “It’s like, it _gets me_. I could do the spells with your wand, but with this one, it just feels so natural.”

“Mm-hmm” Draco mumbled, reading the small flyer the eccentric wand maker had handed them on their way out of his shop.

“Why are you still looking at that?” Hermione peered over his shoulder.

Draco shrugged. “I think we should go to this,” he said, pointing to the flyer.

Hermione laughed. “You want to go to a _non-magical_ concert?” With fewer Corps Officers on their tail in Bath, they had risked getting a motel room for the night, meaning they had a free night to do as they pleased.

He frowned. “I assumed they would let magicals in?”

“Well yes, of course, but the musicians themselves are non-magicals,” Hermione explained.

“We’ve been on the run for a week. I think it would be nice to have some fun. I did enjoy that music you played for me back in the middle of nowhere.” Draco shrugged.

Hermione didn’t necessarily disagree; she was just skeptical of why Draco wanted to go, and it felt like an unnecessary risk. “These types of gatherings are illegal. It could get raided by Justice and, if so, we’re screwed.”

“Is that likely to happen?”

“Well, no,” Hermione admitted.

“Why is it illegal anyway?” Draco frowned.

“When the WEA first formed, fundamentalists tended to use gatherings of any kind as an excuse to attack – a psychological tactic to demoralize the general population. To address this head on, the WEA banned recreational gatherings, limiting occupancy in restaurants and pubs, the works. In a few cities, they’ve developed more extensive defensive infrastructure, and recreational activities are slowly returning. But that’s only London, Paris, and Barcelona, I believe,” she explained.

“Well that’s depressing,” Draco commented. “But I think the fact it’s illegal means it’s safer; if anyone were to recognize us, I doubt they would turn us in, so as not to get caught themselves.”

It was a reasonable argument, she thought. And really, a week on the run was grating her. “Alright, we can go.”

* * *

That evening, Hermione and Draco followed the instructions Jonker had jotted down on the flyer, and they found themselves facing a boarded-up door.

“What now?” Draco asked.

Hermione frowned at the paper – all that was left was the phrase _‘Just looking around’_ – and she went ahead and knocked on the door. The pair had worn their typical disguises: their hair darkened, with odd-shaped glasses and clothes atypical of a Corps Lieutenant and Death Eater. Hermione took comfort in the feeling of her wand holstered to her right forearm, particularly in these moments of uncertainty. She was about to argue they should leave, when a small space at the top of the door opened and a head appeared. 

“What’s your problem?” the man drawled.

Draco opened his mouth to speak when Hermione stopped him and stepped up. “Just looking around,” she told the man, and as suddenly as he appeared, the space vanished and the pair were once again alone. 

“Well that was odd,” Draco commented, “and rude.”

Hermione shrugged. “Probably just security. Maybe we didn’t pass?” 

The door suddenly opened and, after paying a small fee, they walked through the entryway. The walls were painted black, and flyers like the one in Hermione’s hand were plastered across them. Two men stood to the side, smoking cigarettes and shouting obscenities at one another. 

Beyond the entryway, they could hear the _boom boom_ of bass echoing from the basement. Hermione grabbed Draco’s hand, and the pair headed downstairs.

It wasn’t a particularly large room - the band was playing on a make-shift stage perhaps 10 meters away. Twenty or so people were right in front of it, dancing or otherwise just listening to the music. To their right was a keg manned by a bored man in all black, playing what Hermione assumed was a Game Boy. A few folding chairs stood against the wall, where people, magical and non-magical alike, were loitering and drinking.

Hermione wasn’t particularly impressed, though she had never been to a concert or a show in her life. However, Draco looked like a fish out of water. She noticed he was gripping her hand for dear life, so she squeezed his back in an attempt to comfort the man and led him towards the keg. He gave her a questioning look as they approached, and she explained, having to shout in his ear, “It’s beer – an alcoholic drink. Like butterbeer, but less sweet and will mess with your head more.”

He hung back as she negotiated with the man for two cups. She returned and guided them towards one of the far corners of the room, where it was slightly less noisy. Draco drank his entire beer in one gulp. 

“You alright?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” Draco said shortly; his eyes seemed to be scanning the room quickly.

“What’s wrong?” 

“There’s a lot of people,” Draco commented. He wasn’t wrong – there were probably around 60 people in a relatively confined space. She wondered if he was claustrophobic.

“You don’t like small spaces?” she asked, finding she still had to speak quite loudly.

“It’s just – a lot of people.” Draco seemed embarrassed.

“Do you want to leave?” 

“No.” He shook his head and grabbed a couple of folding chairs, opening one up for her before sitting down on the other. “Let’s listen to the band.”

So that’s what they did, with Hermione getting up from time to time to refill their drinks. She thought the band was quite good – a group called _Oasis_ who seemed to have popped up in the 90s after the formation of the WEA. The other patrons gave Draco and Hermione a wide berth, which she greatly appreciated. About four drinks in, Draco was starting to seem a bit more comfortable; he looked relaxed and seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked her.

She was surprised but looked around and realized that quite a few people were dancing, the music having shifted to a softer melody. “Sure.”

She was distinctly more nervous than she was the last time they danced. Once they were within a few feet of the other dancers, Hermione placed his hands around her waist and her own around his neck. 

He smiled. “I could have figured that out.”

“Sorry,” she responded, her face reddening as they shifted left and right.

“I’m kidding, Hermione,” he whispered in her ear, his voice sending a shiver through her. He stepped closer, and she realized they were mere inches apart. She felt him rubbing gentle circles on her back and she sighed into him, her right cheek falling naturally on his chest as they swayed gently to the music. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the proximity, but she felt comfortable – relaxed for the first time in a long while.

“I struggle to see this as dancing,” he mumbled into her ear. She couldn’t see it, but she could hear the smirk in his tone.

She laughed. “You know in my world, dancing is just an excuse to get close to someone.” She pointed discreetly to a few different couples who were now making out on the dance floor.

Draco laughed, and Hermione wondered if he would sit back down, but instead he pulled her in closer, leaning his cheek against her head. The pair were barely moving, holding each other as the sounds of “Champagne Supernova _”_ played over them. Hermione rationally knew this was poor decision making; she was trying, both within her own mind as well as overtly with Draco, to establish clear boundaries. They were in a precarious position, and more than that, he couldn’t be trusted and she knew that.

But they would have these _moments,_ and everything in Hermione _wanted_ to trust him; wanted to be able to consider what _this_ could be. Where her rational mind attempted to recall her laundry list of reasons to be wary, her heart would recall the moments he lit up after she mastered another spell; or the nights where they slept side by side and he would hold her hand as she expressed all her fears of what would go wrong; or when he picked her up a roast beef and Havarti sandwich from the deli because he remembered it was her favorite.

So she smiled into him, letting herself forget for a few minutes just how many secrets lay between them and enjoy the comfort of human touch. As the song ended and another began, they separated, and Hermione gave him a small smile. She had a comment on the tip of her tongue when the room erupted into a cacophony of song, the audience now singing along to “Wonderwall”.

Hermione, completely ignorant of the song, found the entire thing amusing. She and Draco stood, hand in hand, and swayed to the beat. Eventually, following the leads of the other magicals, they pulled out their wands and lit the tips, swaying their arms back and forth. It was an odd moment of camaraderie with a group of total strangers, and it made Hermione smile.

She turned to Draco and caught his eyes watering. He didn’t appear sad or upset, but he was watching the band and the other patrons around him, and tears were clearly falling. Hermione was bewildered by the raw emotion, wondering what it meant but also unwilling to interrupt him. He seemed to feel her eyes on him and returned her gaze, wiping his eyes and giving her a look she couldn’t quite place before turning back to the band.

The song ended and Draco turned to her. “Can we go back to the motel? There’s something I want to show you.” Hermione nodded and they left, hands still tightly clasped.

* * *

“Where are you taking me?” Hermione asked, hanging onto the fire escape connected to their motel balcony for dear life.

“Do you trust me?” he asked her.

“That’s a loaded question!”

“Sorry – do you trust that I won’t hurt you?” He rolled his eyes.

She thought about that for a moment. “Yes, I think I do.”

He smiled. “OK, well, we’re almost there, come on.” 

She gulped and, regretting that last beer, followed him until she realized they had reached the roof. She relaxed only when her feet touched solid ground and started shivering at the feel of the wind on the cool November evening. Draco mumbled a quick spell and turned something in his pocket into a blanket, which he wrapped around her.

“So you wanted to take me to the roof?” she asked.

“Ah, yes.” Draco nodded, and turned her around, pointing at something in the sky. “I wanted to show you your constellation.”

“My constellation?”

His finger hovered by her cheek before touching the scar on the side of her face. “Orion.”

“Oh.” She looked, following where he pointed before frowning. “I don’t think I see it.”

He laughed and stood behind her, guiding her hand. “If you look just the right way, you’ll see the archer.”

“Oh! I see it now!” Her eyes lit up and she turned to see him smiling, watching her. “What?”

“I’ve just never met anyone like you.”

She frowned. “Well yes, I’m not surprised. I assume most of the girls where you come from are very different from me.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that. I don’t know if I can explain it. You’re different.” Her brows furrowed further and he started again, “Sorry – not bad. Just, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with a mind like yours. Or who sees the world quite like you do. You’ve had your life turned upside down and yet, here you are, smiling at something as simple as the night sky..”

She looked at him, that familiar feeling of her heart and head attempting to tear her apart still present. “You’ve had quite a bit to drink tonight.”

He laughed. “You think I’m only saying this because I’m drunk?” She shrugged, so he continued, “I don’t know, maybe I am, but that doesn’t make it untrue.”

“I don’t understand you,” she told him honestly, grabbing his hand and drawing circles on the pads of his fingers.

“What don’t you understand?” he asked.

“You don’t make sense,” she whispered, looking up from where their hands were clasped and finding him gazing at her. She dropped his hand and shook her head. “How did you find the roof?”

“Hm? Oh.” He swallowed, frowning at his empty palm. “When you were practicing with your wand earlier, I wandered for a bit.”

Hermione nodded. “You know, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to go out and look at the stars. All those years, I always felt it too dangerous to go outside at night.” She walked over to where a boulder of concrete stood and took a seat, gazing up into the clear sky. “For all of the horrible things that this world has brought us, the stars themselves haven’t even blinked. They just shine on us, as though nothing has changed.”

Draco sat next to her. “In divination lessons, we were taught to look to the stars to see the future.”

Hermione laughed. “That’s absolute rubbish.”

“Hmm.” He smiled, scratching at his right shoulder. “I’d have to agree that most divination – tea leaves, crystal balls – are quite absurd. But there are magical animals – centaurs – who have always used the stars to guide their decisions. One month before the Dark Lord claimed Hogwarts, they suddenly left the Forbidden Forest. There was no reason, except that they _knew_ it was coming.” 

“Or perhaps someone told them,” Hermione argued.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, and the two sat in companionable silence, until even with a blanket covering her, Hermione shivered. 

“Thank you,” she told him as they crawled down the fire escape. At the bottom, he took her hand and helped her back onto their balcony. They stood for a moment, next to the window. “I’d forgotten what it felt like to just relax. I enjoyed myself tonight.”

He smiled as they walked inside the darkened room. “I’m glad. I saw your face when Jonker handed you that flyer. I could tell how much you wanted to go.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Is that why you insisted?”

He shrugged, looking almost nervous. She considered this most recent version of Draco – modest, shy, and almost anxious – completely at odds with the others she had become used to. And kind, she realized; thoughtful, even. 

“I still don’t trust you,” she whispered before she abruptly leaned into him, pressing her lips against his.

The kiss was hard and intoxicating, the product of weeks of isolation and sexual tension. His arms snaked around her, pulling them closer together, as though it were a reflex. She could feel his legs shaking in anticipation, his mouth opening to hers so freely.

She pressed her tongue against his, a slight moan escaping her lips as his hands grazed her arse, settling on the top of her thighs. Her head was light and her arms still coated in goosebumps from the chill of the roof, but in that moment, she felt warm and present, with his hands pressing against her short dress and soft lips pushing against her own.

She pushed him onto the bed, her gaze landing on his slightly open mouth and short hair.

She tugged her dress off, a small smirk forming on her lips in response to his widening eyes. She pushed him down, straddling him, an unconscious sigh escaping her lips at the feel of his hardening erection against her core. His hips jutted and his arms reached out for her. He was anxious and responsive, his cheeks flushed and breaths short from exertion.

She grabbed his face, her eyes boring into his, almost as though she were looking for something. 

He smiled softly at her, brushing a stray hair behind her ear, and whispered, “You’re beautiful.” 

She shook her head just a little, as if trying to shake something loose, but he just gazed at her – like he wanted to show her something he couldn’t put into words. And she suddenly felt like one of those silly girls she went to secondary with, who talked about butterflies in their stomachs and ‘making love,’ as if sex were more than simply a biological imperative.

She pulled apart his button up shirt, her hands grazing his torso and chest, seeing him bare for the first time since their fateful meeting nearly a month ago. He hadn’t substantively changed physically from the man she had found passed out in the woods, but her perception of what she saw had. 

His unblemished skin betrayed his relatively peaceful life. The scar on his right shoulder lay inflamed, the result of his incessant scratching. The Dark Mark sat on his pale skin, a reminder of the chasm that lay between them and the questions that still lingered. Her fingers lightly drew lines across his torso. Her mind played with the idea of ‘what if?’ for a moment, but she realized that “they” – she and Draco together – were impossible. She tried not to think too many steps ahead these days, but those few minutes where her mind would drift, she was fairly certain: there was no happy ending for the two of them.

But she decided something, as she threw her bra off to the side and pushed her chest against his –

She decided she was okay with that.

Their lips collided, and Draco wrapped his hands around her bare skin, skimming every surface. She moved her hips, her core pressing against him while his fingers kept teasing at the elastic band of her underwear. She sighed when he finally pushed her knickers down, and his breath hitched as he looked at her.

She broke their kiss when his fingers grazed her clit, her breaths short against his neck. He was tentative, and she could feel his eyes on her, even though her face was buried against him. He was so soft, gently pushing a finger inside her whilst his thumb kept rubbing endless circles against her. She recalled his hard edges, both physically and figuratively, back when they were arguing over the “Pureblood Manifesto” in the Uninhabitable Zone.

But now, as his fingers ever so gently pressed against her core and his breaths softly played against her neck, he was undeniably different from the cold Death Eater she once assumed him to be. Her breathing picked up, and his movements grew more purposeful, his fingers pushing and circling in response to her every twitch and moan. She dug her nails into his shoulders, closing her eyes as he continued to push his fingers in and out of her. She could feel her toes vibrating, her hips responding erratically, pressing into his fingers.

“Draco,” she whispered, an unconscious utterance as she came undone, collapsing against him. His hand tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his movements still so gentle. She watched him, his eyes lustful, his tongue gently wetting his lips. Had he changed from that hardened Death Eater to become something else? Or was this who he was all along, and it had simply taken the last month for him to show her?

She pushed her lips against his, and reached down, releasing his cock from his trousers. She broke the kiss and rolled off to the side, her hand stroking his length as she watched him intently, biting the inside of her cheek.

His eyes fluttered and shut, his face so expressive for someone who was typically closed off. But now, as she continued her ministrations, he was an open book, his mouth opening and closing and his chest moving rapidly against her own.

His hips jutted, finding a rhythm against her hand, and just when she was sure he was about to find his release, he placed his hand against hers. 

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Hermione?” he mumbled, his hand lightly grazing her hip. His eyes were wide, nearly pleading, and she nodded her head in answer to the unspoken question.

Because she understood it, that sense that this could be “it” – the only time they’d be willing to cross that line. They were in a strange sort of limbo, stuck between worlds, only temporarily on the same side.

She crawled back atop him, her hand still grasping his length, and lowered herself onto him, moaning softly when he filled her. 

She pushed her chest flush against his, feeling his sweat intermingle with her own. Her hands pushed into his hair, fingering the short blonde locks as she continued to rock against him. 

Hermione wasn’t particularly prude, nor did she consider sex to be something that had to necessarily involve an emotional connection. But still, as his eyes stared into hers, and she pushed against him, her breath hitching as his hands pressed against her arse, she felt the moment to be undeniably intimate.

Her movements grew more urgent – that tension returning as she ground into him. She rode him while he grabbed her hips and pulled her against him. She couldn’t take it anymore and she moaned, allowing herself to finally let go, the orgasm overtaking her. She felt him find his release moments later, and they simply lay together, their bodies entwined in one another as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Hermione stared at the ceiling, her chest beating unnaturally fast as she felt Draco at her side, brushing kisses into her neck with his arm draped over her waist. In that moment, there was no chasm between them; they were just two people on an impossible quest, trying to find a little bit of comfort. She turned, pressed her lips to his and willed herself to pretend, if just for one night, that this made sense.

* * *

_November 5, 2006_

The sound of helicopters woke them with a jolt. “We have to move!” Hermione was stone cold sober now as she detangled her limbs from his. She threw on a short skirt and sweater before zipping on her boots.

“What is it?” Draco asked, grabbing as many of their belongings as possible and shoving them into Hermione’s never-ending bag. 

“Corps standard issue helicopters. There’s no base nearby; I can think of only one reason they would be here.” Hermione was checking her wand and other belongings, fixing her hair, and throwing Draco his hat and glasses.

“Helicopter?”

“It’s a – non-magical flying machine; people use it to quickly get from place to place.” Hermione explained rapidly before standing with her ear to the door.

“We should take the outside stairs,” Draco pointed out.

“The fire escape?” Hermione’s eyes grew wide at the prospect of having to shimmy down three flights of stairs. 

“Yes, it leads to an alley. Let’s hope they don’t know exactly where we are.”

She nodded and reluctantly followed him to the balcony, carefully checking to ensure the way was clear. She closed her eyes briefly and made her way down the three flights as quickly as she could. As she jumped from the bottom rung, Draco caught her, and the two immediately took off with no clear destination in mind — just the simple need to get out.

Reaching the end of the alley, they slowed and listened to the sound of boots against pavement. “They’re everywhere,” Hermione whispered, her eyes wide in panic.

Draco nodded. “We need to get out of here somehow. Hopefully we look innocuous enough — we should be able to hide in plain sight; it has worked for us in the past.”

Hermione looked skeptical, but replied, “We don’t have a choice do we?” 

He held out his hand, and she took it without question. The pair walked onto the main thoroughfare, hoping to give off the impression of a young couple bewildered by all the officers milling about. Their plan was successful for the first three blocks of their journey; whenever someone paid them too much attention, they paused as if to look at a vacant storefront and made googly eyes at each other.

Without warning, Draco dropped to the ground, screaming in pain and clutching his left forearm. “What’s wrong?” Hermione panicked, squatting down next to him as he cradled his arm like it was on fire, his eyes wide.

“I can’t move,” he stuttered. 

She bent down to help him when she heard what sounded like dozens of Corps standard issue semi-automatic rifle safeties clicking off. 

“Fuck,” he moaned as he turned to the clacking of boots coming from his left. Colonel Longbottom approached them with a self-satisfied grin covering her face. Hermione realized they must have figured out some way to hurt him through his mark.

“Mr. Draco Malfoy and Lt. Hermione Granger, you are hereby-“ but before she was able to finish her speech, every Corps member fell to the ground, as if they had been stunned. Draco, no longer paralysed, sat up to look at Hermione, finding a similar look of shock and confusion mirroring his own. They stood up, ready to run again, when they felt hands grip their necks. Suddenly, they were in a plain living room, with no Corps officers or helicopters in sight.

The hands let go of them, and Hermione turned around, startled at the sight before her.

“Minister Snape?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone looking for a refresher on all of the strange WEA related terms, 'WEA 101' can be found on my Tumblr [ here.](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/post/640573885164748800/finding-kallipolis-resource)
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic and crack.
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories/emotions/GIFs. 
> 
> **Heads up!** Next chapter will be an interlude - just a short look at what Harry/Ginny have been up to in Cambridge before we check in with Daphne on how her new job is going.


	24. Chapter 24: Helpless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude to see what Harry/Ginny have been up to in Cambridge.

_Cambridge_   
_November 5, 2006_

Harry huffed, out of breath and lying on the floor. He tried to remember the last time he’d felt so utterly exhausted, but other than the occasional game of football, he wasn’t exactly one for working out.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” Ginny loomed above him, her head tilted to the side. He narrowed his eyes at her, straightening his glasses and carefully watching the witch.

She offered him her hand, which he accepted, noticing the concern in her eyes.

“Yes,” he breathed. “I think - my lack of - skill - is reason - to keep going.” It took him a few tries to get the sentence out. He grabbed a glass of water, chugging down the cool drink in a single gulp.

“There’s no shame in it; you’re a politician not a soldier,” she pointed out.

Harry huffed and she cast a quick _Augamenti_ on the empty glass. They had started a workout regimen two days earlier, when boredom had started to rear its ugly head. Harry thought working out and practicing combat skills was a great idea. Beyond a few basic Magical Defense classes in Secondary, he had no experience in combat, either with or without magic.

“I don’t want to be helpless,” he told her, shaking off the aches in his muscles and drinking another glass of water.

“You’re not; you have me.” She eyed him carefully.

“Yeah, but what if something happens, and you’re not around? Or if you get incapacitated somehow?” he argued.

He caught her slight eye roll. “Harry, if someone gets past me, is there any chance you’ll be able to stop them?” 

He shrugged. “You never know; maybe this hypothetical perpetrator will underestimate me, and your training will save my life.” He smiled as she exhaled in defeat.

“Alright. But no more for today. You look –” she scrunched her nose “–terrible.”

He approached her, wiggling his eyebrows. “Really, Ms. Weasley.” He invaded her space, sweat dripping from his hair. 

She shook her head but appeared amused.

He kissed her, though it took a moment for her to respond. 

She grunted, expressing her disapproval for his sweaty state, but was nonetheless unwilling to separate. “Harry,” she breathed, pressing her hands against his chest and pushing him off. “Do you really feel helpless?”

He frowned, their conversation replaying once more in his head. “I guess after almost getting blown up - twice - I feel more mortal than I have in the past.”

“Really?” she said incredulously.

“Is that surprising?” he questioned.

She shrugged, her cheeks reddening slightly. “I mean, it’s just – I assumed based on what happened with you and your mum... Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She bit her lower lip, her eyes apologetic.

He grabbed Ginny’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I was so young back then. I mean, my memories of those first few years after the _Event_ are a strange blur, like that part of my life is tainted by static. My parents were doing everything they could to keep the peace with non-magicals, which is probably what drew the attention of the Isolationists in the first place.”

He paused, looking at a point on the other side of the room. “When the Isolationists came to Godric’s Hollow to threaten the non-magicals, they had effectively found a way to control the television broadcasts. I’m not sure if you knew this, but their plan was to threaten the non-magicals on television – to basically say that unless the non-magicals left England, the Isolationists would kill all the ones in Godric’s Hollow.”

Ginny furrowed her brow, but nodded in understanding. 

Harry continued, “So, when the isolationists came, my mum threw herself in the crossfire. Rather than broadcasting a threatening message, they aired my mum trying to protect the non-magicals and getting killed instead. And then... well, then there was me.” He left the words _‘crying over her dead body’_ hanging between them.

They were silent for a moment, and Harry felt particularly exposed. It wasn’t often he spoke about his mother – particularly _those_ moments. But he wanted Ginny to get to know him as more than simply a politician.

“But that doesn’t really answer the question, about why you feel so helpless now,” Ginny said softly.

Harry nodded. “I guess the point is, we always expected terrible things to happen back then. It was how we lived: we didn’t answer the door, didn’t trust many people...That was our life. But now? I guess it was the sheer - unexpectedness of the bombings that threw me.”

“Do you want to know one of the key elements of not feeling helpless?” Ginny asked him, urging him to stand up.

“What?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Confidence,” she suggested.

“Don’t I need to know what I’m doing to have confidence?” he frowned.

“You do know what you’re doing: you have a basic knowledge of spells and some basic self defense. But you don’t _believe_ in your own abilities. You need to be sure of yourself; when you cast an _Expelliarmus_ , don’t hesitate – just cast it.”

“But,” he countered, “what if I choose the wrong spell? Like, if they cast something, and it would be best to use a shield spell, but instead I disarm them? Doesn’t it make more sense to be thoughtful?”

She laughed. “This isn’t politics or chess. This is life and death. You trust your instincts, and you make a gut decision. It may be wrong, but in combat, you don’t have time to be thoughtful. So the key to training is to help hone your reflexes. But Harry,” she gave him a kind smile, “you’re not helpless. Alright?”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome. I’ll tell you what — we can have one more go at practicing before supper, yeah?” she asked.

He nodded, readying his stance and grinning at the witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic...and crack.


	25. Chapter 25

_London_   
_November 5, 2006_

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you Hannah, please repeat that.” Daphne sat in her temporary office in the Parliament Meeting House while Hannah Abbott stood before her shuffling side to side.

“Daphne,” Hannah started again after taking a deep breath, “they’re calling it the Harry Potter Remembrance Act – HPRA.”

Daphne wished she had spent more time decorating her office – as it was, the spartan space had no baubles she could dramatically throw to express her displeasure with the proposed Act. So instead, she walked up to Hannah, grabbed what she assumed was the draft legislation in her hands, and threw it against a wall. 

“Did that help?” Hannah asked with an amused smile. She had been working for Daphne since Harry’s campaign, and had now taken over Daphne’s former role of chief advisor.

“Not really,” Daphne huffed. She used her wand to pick up and reorder the papers, knowing that as much it would anger her, she was obligated to read through the bill. The isolationists and separatists had decided to test their recent unexpected burst of popularity by finally putting forward a preliminary plan and timeline to split the WEA in two.

That was bad enough, but they had the _audacity_ to connect Harry’s name to it, and that was unforgivable.

“Sweetie?” Daphne heard a voice at the threshold, and her heart dropped as she saw her father knocking on the door. “Oh, hello Ms. Abbott.” He nodded politely.

“Hi, Mr. Greengrass,” Hannah squeaked before heading out, giving a brief nod to Daphne, who squinted her eyes at the woman’s comically obvious retreat.

“Father,” Daphne said, gesturing towards the chair at her desk reserved for guests. “How can I help you?”

“I just heard about the HPRA,” he said neutrally, sitting down and gracefully crossing one leg over the other.

“Yes, I just learned about it myself. A travesty,” Daphne responded easily, trying to figure out what exactly her father was up to. 

He blinked at her once, a false smile planted on his otherwise passive face. He stood up and closed the door before returning to his seat, his face betraying his discomfort for only a moment. Daphne could feel her neck warming and attempted to calm her breathing.

“Have you read it yet?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Well, perhaps it’s worth a read before you dismiss it outright.” He smiled at her, his tone patronizing. 

For a moment, Daphne felt like she had when she and Harry were fifteen and her father caught them in his library, sneaking sips of scotch. She remembered the second Anton had walked in: Harry’s face had paled and his hair, magically incapable of sitting straight, seemed to stand up on end. He had stuttered a series of apologies and eventually just ran out of the room.

She shook herself out of the past. “I have every intention of reading the bill. But I can’t imagine supporting any bill that calls for the division of the WEA.”

“Daphne, darling, don’t be dramatic,” he reprimanded, shaking his head as he continued, “There’s no desire to split up the WEA, only the _people_ within it. They would still maintain the Corps, but magical and non-magical would work separately. The non-magical community would be protected by their anti-magic technology, and the wizarding community would regain the freedom to perform spells at will.” He smiled as if the answer was obvious.

“Alright father, let me entertain the proposal for a moment. Does this bill explain how land will be divided? What of the magical community who have prospered in the non-magical world? Can they remain? And what of the opposite? There’s been a sharp increase in marriages between the magical and non-magical communities in the past five years. Would we force mixed families to choose one world or the other, and their children would know nothing of the other half of their heritage? Our worlds have been inextricably linked – no amount of hope or legislation is going to unlink it,” she finished, her tone calm and her hands clasped on the desk in front of her.

Her father’s face fell, on a dime turning from doting father to shrewd businessman. “Do not speak in hyperbole; our people are linked, but not inextricably so. Those who wish will have the ability to live as you describe. Magicals can live in the non-magical world without a wand while non-magicals will be permitted to live in the magical world, so long as they have proof of marriage to a magical.”

“Do _you_ want this?” Daphne asked, eyes narrowed.

“I’m a businessman, Daphne. I don’t personally want anything – but to be successful, I must be willing to lean into the winds of change. And make no mistake, there is a change underway; there’s no stopping it.” 

His words frightened her – perhaps the certainty in them – but she had one last card to play. “Tell me, father. Is that why you sent Astoria away to marry a Death Eater?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Her father laughed, unfazed. “Yes. I wondered when you would bring that up.” He cracked his neck to the side. “You were to marry Harry Potter, and Astoria a Death Eater. I was hedging, setting our family up for continued influence no matter whose politics won out in the end.”

Daphne’s face fell for a moment, anger coloring her cheeks until she got a hold of herself. “So we were simply business transactions.” She had expected him to be surprised she knew of the true nature of Astoria’s engagement. After all, Astoria had sworn her to secrecy. Just what, precisely, did Anton know, and what was he up to?

He scoffed, “Of course not, Daphne.” 

“I still don’t understand how you could send Astoria away.” 

“Harry had a lot of theories about the birth rate. Many within the magical community have their own,” he explained. “The problem started when the Muggle and magical worlds collided; perhaps the separation will end it. The Dark Lord himself has done extensive work and is confident that he will have the problem resolved by the end of the year, if we effectively separate the magical and non-magical worlds.”

“But didn’t you just contradict yourself?” Daphne pointed out, “If the merging of the magical and non-magical caused the problem, shouldn’t the Death Eaters be immune?” 

Her father shook his head. “If only the world were so simple.”

Daphne grabbed her forehead, willing herself to remain calm. “Father, I appreciate your candor, but I find we are at an impasse. I agree that the birth rate problem is not simple, but I do not believe such problems can be solved through separation or isolation.”

Anton stood, straightening his suit and stepping around to hug Daphne, his face once again soft and indulgent. “Well, I appreciate you hearing me out.”

“Of course, Father.” She gave him a brief hug and saw him out, beckoning Hannah once her father was out of sight.

“Sorry,” Hannah squeaked, apologizing for her earlier abrupt exit. “Your father kinda weirds me out.”

“You’re not alone,” Daphne smirked. “Have we learned anything new?”

“Yes, apparently the coalition putting forward the HPRA has secured a substantial block of non-magical representatives,” Hannah confirmed.

“You’re not serious? It’s only been a few hours!” 

“I don’t know anything for certain, but I’m guessing they’ve been working on this for a while, possibly just more aggressively since Representative Potter’s death...” Hannah trailed off.

“Has anyone spoken against it?”

“A number of representatives, most notably Viktor Krum and Frederick Davies.” Hannah smiled. Daphne felt some relief – two _powerful_ allies.

“I’m assuming Fudge is siding with the separatists in this instance; he’s quite the snake. Any word on Marchbanks?” Daphne looked hopeful.

Hannah shook her head. “She hasn’t formally committed either way. While she is a moderate, she also lived most of her life in the magical world; we can’t assume she’ill vote our way.”

Daphne nodded her head in agreement. “Well, I guess I better read this thing.”

* * *

Daphne returned to her home late that night, utterly exhausted and hoping for a glass of red wine and a good book, when she almost tripped over a stuffed envelope sitting right outside her door. 

After placing her bags on the coffee table, she opened the envelope and nearly collapsed on the sofa, dropping the photos and accompanying letter as though they were on fire.

She grabbed her phone and sent a quick text: _‘Need to talk to you – come over – don’t tell anyone – come round back.’_ A response of _‘on my way’_ left her pacing, thoughts of relaxation and an early night’s sleep far from her mind.

She managed to pace her way into the kitchen, opening a new bottle of Merlot and bringing the bottle and glass into the living room to wait. Two glasses in, she heard a rapid knock on her patio door.

“Is everything OK?” Ron Weasley entered, out of breath and red from exertion. 

Daphne simply beckoned him into the living room, feeling light headed from drinking on an empty stomach. Without preamble, she handed him the envelope. 

“What the fuck?” he asked, reading the note and looking at the attached photos.

“We photograph well together, don’t we?” Daphne remarked. 

“Daphne? We’re not doing anything wrong in these pictures,” Ron pointed out.

Daphne looked at them again – a few were from the café, showing them leaning towards each other, in one of them Ron was smiling brilliantly while Daphne laughed, _really_ laughed. Then there were some from Halloween – showing Ron and Daphne drinking their butterbeers, leaning into one another in what looked to be an intimate gesture but was really two people attempting conversation in a crowded club!

“I know we’re not, Ron,” Daphne told him calmly, refilling her wine glass once again and directing Ron to get his own glass from the kitchen. 

“You _can’t_ agree to their demands!” 

“I know that,” she agreed. “Have you heard about the HPRA?”

“The new law they’re trying to pass?” He looked at her, confused, while filling his glass. “Don’t the separatists try this every few years, and it always fails miserably? Oh.” He looked at the note again.

“Yup,” she confirmed, “it’s going to be a close vote. My own _father_ tried to lobby me to support it this morning.”

“So, you’re not going to vote for it? Even with these?” Ron questioned, gesturing at the photos.

“I can’t vote for it,” she told him. “It goes against _everything_ Harry believed in; hell, it goes against everything I believe in.” She paused, looking at the pictures and smiling, before returning her attention to Ron. “They’re taking....whatever we are, and turning it dark and ugly. They’re going to take my name and drag it through the mud – imply we were having an affair. And you’ll be forced in the mud with me.”

“I’ve been in the mud; it’s not so bad.” His smile faded slightly. “I’m sorry this happened – I’m sure I’m not exactly the kind of person you want to be publicly associated with.”

Daphne blanched, taken aback. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, you know, among the elite, they still call my family blood traitors,” Ron uttered coldly.

“You must know that’s not how I feel.” Daphne looked almost hurt.

He shrugged. “I’ve found people can feel two ways at once. I’m honestly not bothered by it.”

His statement didn’t sit right with her, the idea of feeling two different ways. Though, as she considered people like her father, who had just earlier today shown her precisely how he seemed to feel both in favor of and opposed to the WEA, she couldn’t find it in her to blame Ron for his wariness.

“But you should be.” Daphne took his wine from him and placed it on the table next to hers. She grabbed his hands. “I’m not my father or my last name. I’ve seen the world for what it is – the good and the bad, and I have no desire for such games. 

“You’re a good man, Ron Weasley. I would be _honored_ to have my name plastered in the media next to yours.” She paused, looking at their hands, still entwined. “When I saw that picture – the one where I laughed at the café – I thought for a moment it must be a fake, because I had never looked like that before, so _light_ and carefree. But it was real.

“I’m not ashamed to be seen with you. What I’m ashamed of is the implication these photos give – the idea that there’s something nefarious happening. _You_ don’t deserve that,” she finished, smiling at him before dropping her hands and eyes to her lap, feeling quite exposed.

“Hey,” he said, lifting her chin gently with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t believe anything in this life goes the way it _should_. We live in a world that can be cruel, so we do our best to make the most of it. This is just a small thing, alright? Don’t worry about me, and don’t worry about us,” he reassured her with a smile.

She leaned in to him, pausing about an inch from his lips to give him a chance to back away. When he didn’t, she kissed him. It was soft, a promise of something more, but also something innocent. They separated, foreheads still touching and breaths labored. “I had to do it at least once,” she said with a soft smile.

“I’m glad you did,” he breathed, his hand cupping her cheek and his eyes shining. “I’m sorry, but I have to go; I’m bartending tonight. Thank you, Daphne, and call me if you need _anything._ ” 

She nodded and walked him to the back door, feeling a little bit stronger than she had before.

* * *

“Did you get all that?” Fox looked at Robards expectantly.

“She was blackmailed?” Robards said, rubbing his eyes and attempting not to yawn. He had been about to head to bed when his partner had called unexpectedly.

They had planted a magical bug at Daphne’s apartment when they went to visit her after Harry Potter’s wake. They felt a little guilty, but they were _technically_ following Potter’s wishes. For the most part, the information they had received from it was innocuous – until that night. Fox had happened to be in his office when he heard the conversation between Daphne and Ron Weasley. 

“Yes. I’m going to see if the tap was able to pick up the blackmailer.” He typed the commands into his computer. One of the great advances in non-magical police work was the ability to add magic to enhance their technology. In this instance, the bug allowed them to both see and hear throughout the house. Though there were some limitations, they were optimistic.

“Alright, so while we wait for the facial rendering, let’s talk this through,” Robards started. “We know that Michel Pierre’s group was paid by someone named Heather T. Steade. We know nothing of Steade – only that she has a scant-used office with a few books, the only one of note being the _Pureblood Manifesto_.

“We know that Daphne Greengrass is being blackmailed by either Separatists or Isolationists – or a combination thereof – to vote in favor of the HPRA.” He paused. “It has to be connected.”

“You think Harry Potter’s attempted murder was a plot by the separatists?” Fox summarized.

Robards looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t considered it, because non-magical fundamentalists and magicals typically don’t work together. Initially, I didn't think the separatists had any motive. However, the Isolationists and Separatists sure have capitalized on this, so it’s a real possibility."

“OK, we’re getting the rendering now,” Fox confirmed. Both frowned as the image showed a young boy placing the envelope on Daphne’s doormat. “Well that was anticlimactic.”

“Can you run facial recognition?” 

“Running it now,” Fox answered, typing on his keyboard. While he waited for the program to complete its analysis, his computer beeped. “New interoffice email,” Fox noted. “Oh!”

“What is it?” 

“Huh.” Fox looked at his screen, appearing quite confused. “I just received a hit on my search for Heather T. Steade.”

“And?” Robards asked.

“Heather T. Steade is registered as the sole owner of a publication company called ‘Magical Manifestos.’ And guess what the one book is that they publish?” Fox looked up, eyes alight.

“ _The Pureblood Manifesto_ ,” Robards mumbled, all thoughts of sleep far from his mind. “So are we thinking this could be _Death Eaters_?” 

Fox shrugged. “That’s more your territory than mine. Do we know anything about the relationship between the publisher and the Death Eaters? Perhaps it was simply a business relationship, and we’re jumping to conclusions too quickly.”

Robards started writing on the board. “There must be some connection, simply since the publishing company hasn’t exactly been prolific. Oh shit.” He stopped, staring dumbfounded at the board.

HEATHER T. STEADE

DEATH EATERS

“It’s a fucking anagram,” Robards chuckled.

Fox shook his head and commented, “Can’t be – not enough letters.”

“No – look.” Robards added the word ‘THE’ before Death Eaters.

“Seriously?” Fox looked at the board, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Alright. So, a person who does not actually exist, and whose name is an anagram of ‘The Death Eaters,’ pays a French fundamentalist terrorist to kill Harry Potter. Then, once presumed dead, his death is capitalized upon to push through a law that otherwise would never have seen the light of day. But to what end?” Robards shook his head.

“Let’s update Officer Weasley tomorrow and see if this sparks something with Potter.” Fox yawned. “Oh! Just got a name for the kid who dropped off the envelope; we can pay him a visit in the morning. I assume he’s just the messenger, but perhaps he can set us on the right path.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comment/reviews/gifs/theories/emotions.


	26. Chapter 26

_ Unknown location _   
_ November 5, 2006 _

_ “Minister Snape?” _ Hermione asked, dumbfounded, blinking at the man dressed entirely in black. Before they had time to consider defending themselves, he had wordlessly disarmed them, their wands flying into his hands easily.

“Who are you? What happened?” Draco spat, recovering quickly and moving to hover a few inches in front of Hermione.  _ Protecting me, _ she thought with a frown; she worked to calm her breathing, attempting to understand their current predicament.

“Draco,” she whispered, keeping her eyes glued to the Justice Minister, whose face was passive and stance calm. “He’s Severus Snape, one of the Justice Ministers.” The Justice Department, which consisted of both the investigating police force as well as the WEA’s judiciary, was run by three Ministers. Like the other branches of the WEA, one was magical, one non-magical, and the other a wildcard. 

“So?” Draco responded, unable to grasp the importance of such a position. 

Snape continued to watch them silently.

“Sir.” Hermione instinctually stood taller. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere safe.” His eyes darted between the pair. “For now. You are being chased by quite a powerful organization.”

“How did we get here?” Hermione asked, stepping forward to stand side by side with Draco. “Did you Apparate us?” As far as she was aware, it was physically impossible for magicals to Apparate outside of an Apparition zone. Satellites projected a specific frequency that inhibited them from Apparating, though perhaps a Minister of Justice had some sort of workaround.

“Of course not. Even I cannot apparate outside of an Apparition zone,” he scoffed.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione remarked, heart racing.  _ Was Justice after them too? What was going on? _ “You did the magic in the street!” she realized suddenly. 

Draco turned to her, his eyes calculating.

“I did,” Snape confirmed. 

Hermione tried to remember the dynamics of the Corps and Justice. As far as she was aware, there was no underlying animosity between the two branches of government, so she couldn’t understand Minister Snape’s heavy-handedness with the Corps officers. 

“I am not here in my official capacity.” The Minister looked at Hermione, and she felt a chill run through her; she couldn’t help but wonder if he had literally read her mind.

“Why are you here?” Draco asked warily.

“To find  _ you _ ,” Snape told him, drawing surprised glances from the pair.

“Me?” Draco clarified.

“Yes.” Snape started pacing, and Hermione had the chance to take in their surroundings. They seemed to be in a formal sitting room, though judging by the state of the furniture and the thick layer of dust, it hadn’t been used in many years. Snape stopped and, struggling for words, lifted his left sleeve to show a faded Dark Mark imprinted on his forearm.

Hermione’s eyes went wide, and she wished desperately for her wand. Still, she slowly reached her left hand into her bag, her thumb lightly hovering over her hand gun’s safety. She tried to remember anything she could of Severus Snape – was he a known deserter? Was this all a convoluted plot? Looking at Draco’s face, he appeared equally surprised, but could she trust his reactions? 

“You’re a Death Eater?” Draco gulped, his eyes wide. He really  _ did _ seem shocked, and Hermione decided for the moment to assume that his reactions were authentic.

“I  _ was _ ,” Snape clarified, pushing his sleeve back down to his wrist. Hermione kept her hand firmly in place, trying to determine how quickly she would be able to pull out the weapon and shoot both men, if the situation required. “I defected long ago. I’m loyal to the Alliance now.” His words were clear, purposeful, and Hermione suddenly felt she was missing something.

“But you just interfered in a Corps mission,” Hermione pointed out.

He nodded. “I’m loyal to the WEA, but I am also loyal to another: Albus Dumbledore.” 

Draco’s eyes grew wide, while Hermione’s narrowed, her mind sorting through names, dates, and facts, until she finally found what she was looking for. “Albus Dumbledore? He was a wizard, right? I vaguely recall his name from wizarding history.” 

“He brought down Grindelwald,” Draco answered, blinking, his face betraying his confusion. “But no one has seen or heard from him in nearly 25 years!”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione repeated to herself under her breath, trying to pull the strands together. Severus Snape was a well-respected Justice Minister – had been for nearly five years, as best she recollected. Now she learned he was a defected Death Eater, though Hermione noted that he had not indicated precisely how long he had been defected. And he revealed he was, in a sense, a double agent – working for both the WEA and this wizard, Albus Dumbledore, whom Hermione could not recall as being particularly important. Snape  _ had _ saved them from inevitable capture, though to what end remained unclear. What did he want with Draco? 

“I was a Death Eater in the 1970s,” Snape started, casting a wordless  _ Scourgify  _ to clear the couch of dust and other particles. He gestured for the pair to sit down as he continued, “I was – misguided. I had a notion of the world based on naivety and anger.”

“What happened?” Draco asked.

“I saw something–” Snape looked directly at Draco “–horrible. I knew then that Voldemort was not the visionary I had deluded myself into thinking he was. I left, but at that time you didn’t really  _ leave _ the Death Eaters. So, I ran, and Dumbledore found me. I have been working with him since.”

“But who is Dumbledore? What does he do?” Hermione questioned.

Snape shook his head. “Dumbledore is an incredibly powerful wizard. Once upon a time, he headed the organization that directly opposed Voldemort.” 

Draco looked ready to argue but closed his mouth. 

Snape continued, “While most of Western Europe has moved on, and Voldemort and his Death Eaters have become nothing but an oddity, Dumbledore has not forgotten. He has been waiting.”

“For what?” Hermione asked with furrowed brows.

“I can’t tell you what – I myself don’t know. Only that I have been waiting 26 years to share with  _ you— _ ” he looked at Draco “—a horrible truth. And I was asked by Dumbledore himself to give  _ you  _ this.” He turned to Hermione and handed her what looked like a piece of candy. 

She looked at it, confused. “A... Lemon Drop?” she questioned, reading the wrapper.

He shook his head. “It’s a portkey.”

Her eyes went wide. “A portkey? Is that how you brought us here?” 

He nodded and looked about ready to explain when Draco interrupted, turning to Hermione. “I thought you said portkeys were hardly used in the WEA?”

“They’re very highly regulated – books that contain the instructions to make them are banned. Portkeys usually require a court order to produce,” Hermione explained, giving Snape a calculated look. “Why did Dumbledore want you to give this to me?”

“He didn’t tell me why.” Snape seemed impatient, though it wasn’t clear if it was with  _ them _ or Dumbledore. “He just wanted me to tell you he’ll be waiting for you, Ms. Granger. This portkey will activate with the phrase ‘Bertie Botts’; just speak the words, and you will be taken to his chateau.”

She frowned, looking at the innocent looking piece of candy and wondering what some old wizard would want with  _ her _ . “So you have  _ no _ idea why he’s interested in me?” she asked.

“No.”

“Do you have any idea who I am?” she asked, her cracked voice betraying her nerves.

He shrugged. “I checked your records when I began the process of looking for the pair of you. It was fascinating; you were classified as a non-magical until your records were changed two weeks ago.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, reluctant to provide details.

“Beyond that, I am ignorant. Though I am curious why the Corps has expended so many resources into your capture. I am simply a messenger, however,” he explained. 

Hermione was disappointed after being momentarily hopeful for answers.

“What about me?” Draco asked abruptly. His face was somehow paler than usual. 

“You can’t possibly remember, but I was there when you were born, Draco,” Snape started. “I was very close to your parents; perhaps in a different lifetime, I would have been your godfather.” He smiled, an odd facial expression on the stern man. “What I have to tell you – to show you – is for you alone.”

He walked over to the couch and grabbed the sides of Draco’s face with his hands. Draco flinched back in revulsion at first, but then remained still as some sort of silent magical exchange occurred between them. After a few moments, Snape released Draco, giving him a sad nod and returning to his seat across from them. 

Draco’s face was masked in confusion, his breaths short. 

She was suddenly reminded of his first week in her home, when she would explain things that he couldn’t rationalize or that didn’t fit into his worldview. “What is it?” she asked. 

He simply looked at her and shook his head, then turned to the Minister. “Why?” Draco asked him.

Snape shrugged. “I’m not certain, but my understanding is it was a – punishment of sorts.”

“But,” Draco started and abruptly stopped. “It doesn’t make sense.” He was scratching the scar on his right shoulder again.

“Madness never does,” Snape replied.

The three sat in silence until Hermione cleared her throat, thousands of questions on the tip of her tongue. “You said Dumbledore has “not forgotten” Voldemort – that he’s merely been waiting. What does that mean?”

“Dumbledore has every intention of seeing the end of Voldemort,” Snape told her, though his eyes drifted to Draco, analyzing the younger man’s reaction. 

“But – why? He and his followers have been relegated to 50 kilometers of relatively undesirable land. I’m sure he’ll die off eventually on his own,” Hermione pointed out.

Snape shook his head. “Voldemort has made  _ Hogwarts _ his base of operations,” he started, considering his next words carefully. “Hogwarts is  _ more _ than simply a school. It is built on a nexus of magic.”

Hermione recalled a nearly identical speech coming from Draco. “I know that. I still don’t understand the relevance; the magical world has been fine without it.”

Snape gave a frustrated grunt. “Hogwarts has existed for  _ over a thousand years _ . I would not expect to see an impact overnight. But Voldemort espouses dark magic. The long-term influence of such behavior on the place – I can only imagine the consequences.” He shook his head.

Draco frowned before finally speaking. “There is no such thing as dark magic,” he argued, “only power and those who are willing to use it.”

“Spoken like a true Death Eater,” Snape bit back. “I don’t know why you are here, Draco. Only that I have waited 26 years to tell you the truth, and I have done so. Do not delude yourself like I did; as far as I’m aware, you have not yet done anything you cannot take back. Choose your path wisely.”

Hermione’s eyes drifted between the men, both exiles from a different world. Draco was as inscrutable as ever, his face like stone and his mind closed to her. She considered Snape’s words, “ _ I don’t know why you are here,” _ and Draco’s lack of response. She knew there was more to Draco’s story; but what precisely was she missing? 

Snape floated their wands back to them. Hermione grabbed hers, returning the 10-inch piece of wood to the holster where it belonged, and letting out an involuntary sigh of relief at the feeling of it pressed against her skin. She looked up and realized Snape was preparing to  _ leave _ . 

“Sir,” she started, “if you don’t mind, can you tell us where we are? We’re trying to get—” she debated if she should share her mission with the man before choosing caution, “—somewhere.”

He looked at her oddly before responding, “We’re in Cokeworth. This is—” he paused for a moment, his mouth in a tight line, “—my home of sorts. I must go, before my absence from London is noticed. I would recommend that you do not linger here. While the Corps should not be able to trace  _ how _ you travelled or with  _ whom _ , they may nonetheless be able to trace the magic.”

Hermione nodded, and just as he was about to turn away, she remembered herself. “Thank you, sir,” she told him, feeling oddly comforted that a government Minister had helped them in some way, even if it wasn’t in his official capacity. 

Draco just sat there, almost frozen in thought, not acknowledging the man who seemed to upend something in him.

“Good luck,” Snape told them earnestly, before disappearing in a flash.

She turned to Draco. “So?” she asked him, hoping for some indication of what had transpired.

“It’s nothing, Granger,” he told her, his voice harsh and firm. 

She felt like she had been slapped, shaken by the juxtaposition of his softness from the night before against the coldness of the man before her now. “Ok,” she responded, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. 

“What now?” he asked, his voice betraying his uneasiness.

She cleared her throat, glancing at the lemon drop in her hand and shaking her head. "I don't know Dumbledore. I still want to see Sirius Black and see what he knows about what happened to me before going down another rabbit hole. The good news is, we're now much closer to Black’s home in Cambridge. I suggest we take a coach out tonight. Hopefully, we can be there in two days.”

Draco nodded, but Hermione couldn’t help but feel more distant from the man than ever before.

* * *

_ London _   
_ November 6, 2006 _

Daphne stood outside the familiar townhouse, the shuffling of feet on the other side of the front door confirming that he  _ had _ in fact heard her, even if she was currently being ignored. Frustrated, she shouted, “Mr. Potter, it’s Daphne Greengrass, please open up.”

A minute must have passed, but finally he opened the door, looking very much  _ not _ “James Potter”-like. “I need to speak with you,” she told him, forcing the door open and entering the house, ignoring his mumbled objections.

There was no doubt: James Potter was a broken man. He wore a bathrobe and slippers, the robe bearing stains that looked long dried. His breath reeked of whiskey, and a glance at his living room revealed a half-filled decanter. Empty bottles of an assortment of alcoholic beverages and the half eaten remnants of several TV dinners littered the kitchen. The house was dark, the lights dimmed to their lowest setting and curtains closed. James himself looked to have aged years in only a week. His eyes were puffy, with dark purple circles beneath them. 

“I need your help,” she told him before quickly  _ Scourgifying _ a small section of the couch upon which to sit.

James stood there, incredulous. “Do I really look like I’m in any position to help you _? _ ” Even his glasses sat uneven on the edge of his nose, as if no aspect of him was working quite properly.

“No, you don’t,” she bit back. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“I really don’t give a fuck what’s going on.” He shrugged.

“Really? So that’s how it is? You spend your life fighting for the Alliance – fighting for your  _ son _ – and now that he’s gone, you’re okay with his  _ legacy _ being destroyed?” She was practically yelling at him. 

He gave her a look, somewhere between apathy and confusion, so she continued, “There’s a bill before parliament – the  _ Harry Potter Remembrance Act. _ Do you know what it is?” He looked unmoved, but she carried on. “It’s the preliminary law to separate the WEA into two distinct entities: a magical and a non-magical state. And there’s a chance it will pass!”

He shrugged. “If that’s what the people want...”

“Are you serious right now?” Daphne’s eyes were wide.

“I lost the love of my life 15 years ago. My only son is  _ dead _ . Maybe my  _ mistake _ was fighting for anything at all. If I had just minded my own business, maybe they would  _ be here _ ,” he argued.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I knew Harry, probably better than he knew himself. He would never have been able to live with himself if he hadn’t done  _ anything and everything _ in his power to try and make the world a better place. And I  _ believe _ he got that from  _ you! _ He told me stories about the Order days – about you and the others fighting Voldemort. You showed him what it meant to fight for your world!

“Sure, if you had been okay hiding and staying quiet and compliant, perhaps you would all still be alive. But what about everyone else? And what sort of life would it be? Would you still be on the run from Voldemort, or perhaps hiding out from fundamentalists? What sort of life would that have been? There is  _ nothing  _ okay with Harry being dead. But he  _ fought, _ and I personally will not let his name be used to create the very world  _ he fought against! _ ” she finished, looking for any sign she had gotten through to him.

He was silent, though his features had shifted from anger to simple defeat. As though he believed her words but considered himself powerless to do anything to help.

“Daphne.” He looked at her sadly. “I don’t think I have any fight left.”

“ _ I’ll _ do the fighting,” she told him. “I just need your help.”

He nodded reluctantly, and she explained, “I’m being blackmailed by someone. I’m not sure who, but they clearly want me to support the HPRA. But I refuse to give in to the blackmail.” 

“What do they have on you?” he asked, straightening his glasses and walking to the kitchen, to make coffee she hoped.

“They have photos of me spending time with a man, Ron Weasley. None of them are explicit but, taken out of context, they’re going to imply I was unfaithful to Harry.”

James returned, appearing thoughtful. Daphne knew he was aware of the nature of her and Harry’s engagement, but it was still an uncomfortable conversation to have. “You anticipate they will release the photos?” he surmised.

She nodded. “Yes. And I’m worried that it’s what they wanted all along – a distraction from the bill. Something to quiet my voice and that of the opposition.”

James nodded. “Okay.” Suddenly, he was standing straight, wiping crumbs from his robe. Daphne smiled, reminded of the astute political advisor she knew. “We need to identify allies. Representatives who will stand by you. And—” he paused, “— it’s a risk, but I think you should speak against the bill.”

“But won’t that just anger them more?” Daphne asked.

“It will – and people make mistakes when they’re angry. I’ll stand by you; I’m not sure how much that will matter, but hopefully it will make people think twice before suggesting you were unfaithful to Harry. If you don’t say anything about the bill, they control the narrative. If you speak against it in front of Parliament, you are making a  _ stand; _ you are telling the world you won’t be manipulated and you will not let Harry’s legacy be manipulated.” He looked younger than he had just five minutes earlier. “Would you like some coffee? This is going to take a while.”

Daphne smiled and took a breath, feeling more hopeful than she had since opening that envelope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> I appreciate any and all comment/reviews/emotions/GIFs!
> 
> We'll be in Cambridge on Wednesday....


	27. Chapter 27

_ Cambridge  _   
_ November 7, 2006 _

“A Death Eater plot?” Harry said incredulously. Ginny had just been debriefed by Robards and was trying to update Harry, but he kept interrupting. Sirius sat on his recliner, watching the pair with an amused grin.

“They don’t know exactly,” Ginny explained. “They just know there’s evidence of a connection to the Death Eaters. They’re also exploring the possibility of the bombings being a Separatist or Isolationist plot – or perhaps even a conspiracy involving multiple magical factions.”

“Now  _ that _ is more believable,” Harry agreed. “Though I still don’t see them resorting to non-magical methods of murder.”

Ginny shrugged. “That’s why they originally weren’t considered as suspects. But with everything that’s happened, there seems a likelihood of collusion among different parties. The good news is Robards and Fox believe they’re closing in on whomever is behind the bombings, so the investigation should be over soon...” 

Harry was trying to grasp what the  _ Death Eaters _ could possibly gain from meddling in WEA politics. “Are the Death Eaters trying to destabilize our government? Or simply wield–“ His musings were interrupted by a sharp knock at the front door. 

Ginny immediately went on alert, pulling out her hand gun and wand. “Are you expecting anybody?” she asked Sirius, who gave her a pointed look before shaking his head. “Okay, Harry – go to the kitchen. Wait there until you hear from me. Sirius? If they knock again – answer.” 

Harry nodded before departing, feeling fairly useless as usual. Sirius remained on his recliner, a small nod the only indication of his compliance. Ginny stood near the door, attempting to discern who was on the other side.

_ Knock knock _ . 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Ginny cursed, taking a seat and hiding her weapons from sight.

Sirius reluctantly stood up and opened the door a few inches. “What?” he grunted. Ginny was tempted to inch forward and scope out whomever was on the other side but forced herself to remain still.

“Sirius Black?” a woman asked.

“Who's asking?”

“I’m sorry for barging in like this, but I need to speak with you. Remus Lupin sent me,” she told him. Ginny frowned, trying to figure out why that name sounded familiar.

Sirius blinked. “Huh?”

“Please,” the woman pleaded, “can we come in?”

Ginny stood up, bracing herself for conflict. 

“I’m not receiving guests at this time,” Sirius deadpanned.

“You don’t understand – my name is Hermione Granger,” she told him. 

Sirius froze, while Ginny jumped up in surprise and went to the door, wand at the ready. “Sirius,” she told him quietly. “She’s a Corps fugitive.”

But Sirius just stared at the woman, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Much to Ginny’s horror, he opened the door, letting the woman and her companion in. Sirius closed the door behind them and continued to stare at the woman — Hermione — like he was seeing a ghost. Hermione was clearly growing uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and her male companion looked wary.

“Alright.” Ginny pulled out her wand, keeping it at her side. “What the hell is going on?” 

Hermione’s eyes widened in panic. “You’re Corps?” she asked, staring at the witch pin on Ginny’s chest.

“I am.” Ginny eyed them suspiciously. “Give me one reason not to call my superior officer right now.”

“Please, let me explain,” Hermione pleaded. “It’s a – complicated story. I was told Sirius might have answers...”

Ginny’s eye twitched, trying to get a handle on the situation. The last thing she wanted to do was alert anyone to her and Harry’s location. And the woman didn’t seem particularly dangerous; but then again, there was a manhunt for her and her companion. “I’ll give you a chance to explain, but if I don’t like your answer, I will call the appropriate authorities. And who’s your friend? The media never released his name.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said slowly. 

Draco remained guarded, a few inches behind her, his eyes darting from Sirius back to Ginny. Sirius’ eyes narrowed at Draco as he finally took notice of the wizard.

“Draco Malfoy?” They heard a voice come from the hall, and Ginny cursed under her breath. Now that Harry had been seen, Ginny wouldn’t be able to let these people leave, unless she was willing to severely alter their memories. 

Harry walked in, pointing his wand at Draco and ignoring Hermione altogether. “He’s a Death Eater, Gin. Daphne’s sister, Astoria, was – or is – betrothed to him, as far as I’m aware.”

Ginny raised her wand, pointing it at the blonde’s chest. Draco’s eyes went wide and he turned to Hermione, who gave him a calculated look before pulling out her own wand.

“Perhaps it’s time you finally told the truth, Draco,” Hermione said to him, her eyes cold and harsh, as she pointed her wand at him.

Draco looked at Hermione – only her. “What are you talking about?” he asked, swallowing, his hands out in surrender. “You  _ know  _ who I am.” His eyes were pleading.

Ginny, Harry, and Sirius watched the interaction with bated breath, surprised by the unexpected turn of events Harry’s statement had wrought between their new visitors. 

Hermione shook her head. “You’ve told me plenty. But how much of it was true?”

“I–” Draco stuttered, “Hermione, you  _ know _ me.” But he recognized that the Hermione standing before him now was the clinical academic he’d first met in the Uninhabitable Zone, not the woman he danced with in Bath.

Hermione shook her head again. “I’ve chosen to, for the most part, ignore all of the indications of your dishonesty. I needed an ally, and you were capable and intelligent. While you were obviously looking out for your own interests, it seemed for a time that our goals were aligned.

“But now, I want to know the  _ truth _ . You  _ knew  _ I was a witch; sure, you attempted to rationalize it, but at the end of the day you knew it somehow. You took one plus one and made five, and somehow it was true.” She paused. “And before you attempt to rationalize that further, I remember your story of why you left the Death Eaters. I seem to recall you were “engaged” to a woman named Millicent – but that wasn’t true at all, was it?”

Draco’s neck was turning red. “Yes, I’ve lied,” he admitted, his voice growing stronger. “But you’ve kept things from me as well!”

“Oh? Like what, Draco?” 

“Your memory, that day you got your magic back.” He looked momentarily triumphant.

“You’re right, I didn’t tell you. You want to know why?” Her voice shifted from clinical to livid. “Because what I saw was two Death Eaters torturing my parents! You see Draco, we did make it to the campground. And I’m sure we were having a lovely time until your people came.”

Draco’s face somehow paled further. “What?”

“Yup,” she confirmed. “So what’s your excuse for your lies? Why exactly did you leave the Death Eaters, Draco?”

Draco looked conflicted, his eyes momentarily scanning the others in the room. “I don’t have a good excuse. I – I didn’t know you then.” It was honest, if not quite what she wanted to know. 

“OK,” Ginny interrupted. “I don’t know what’s going on, but until we sort it out, neither of you are going anywhere,” she told them, attempting to regain control of the situation.

Hermione nodded, steadying herself. “I have nowhere else to go, anyway. I was told Sirius Black might be able to help answer some questions I have.” 

“So, you’re just here to see Sirius?” Harry asked, his wand still pointed at Draco. 

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed, looking at Harry closely. “Wait a minute – you’re Harry Potter!”

“This is why I told you to wait in the kitchen,” Ginny drawled.

“I don’t understand – why are  _ you _ here? What’s going on?” Hermione asked.

“Who’s Harry Potter?” Draco muttered under his breath.

“Alright everyone!” Ginny raised her voice. “Let’s take a breath. There seems to be quite a bit to discuss.” She paused and turned towards Hermione. “I don’t know why the Corps is after you. Given the unique circumstances we find ourselves in, I’m willing to hear you out. But I can’t in good conscience allow you and the Death Eater to remain armed.” 

Hermione frowned momentarily before nodding and handing the woman her wand. This was, she realized, the end of the line in her quest to find answers. After this, she had no more leads. Draco shook his head, appearing ready to protest, when Harry silently disarmed him.

Ginny smiled at Hermione. “Thank you. Now,” she paused, “let’s sit down, and you can explain why you’re here.”

The five magicals made a strange tableau. They settled uneasily into their seats, except Draco, who paced, his gaze discreetly shifting to Hermione from time to time.

“I lived my entire life believing I was non-magical,” Hermione explained, “but it appears that my memories were altered and my magic was removed. Draco,” she paused, “helped me remember a few things, and in the process, I overcame whatever blocked my magic.”

“Why is the Corps after you?” Ginny asked.

“I’ve spent the past two years conducting research in the Uninhabitable Zone – alone. I realized,” she exhaled, “–  _ Draco _ pointed out – my very assignment went against Corps protocol.”

“Alright, can we back up?” Harry interrupted. “Where did  _ he  _ come from?” 

“Oh.” Hermione shook her head. “I found him in the forest; he was suffering from radiation poisoning.”

“OK, so Draco showed up, helped you discover you were a witch and your memories were tampered with, and deduced that your assignment was suspect,” Ginny summarized.

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed. “I wasn’t sure who to trust in the Corps, so I decided to go AWOL and try to find answers.”

Ginny nodded and turned to Sirius. “And you know something about this?”

“Yes,” Sirius confirmed, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Well?” Harry asked, expectantly. 

Sirius exhaled. “Seventeen years. I’ve kept this secret for  _ seventeen years _ .” He looked around the room and sighed. “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked Hermione.

“Yes,” she told him, a horrible feeling beginning to pool in her gut. Draco stopped pacing and came to stand inches behind her. It seemed that, in spite of everything, he still wanted to protect her.

“Are you sure you want him to hear this?” Sirius asked, his eyes drifting to where Draco hovered over her. 

“I’m fairly certain I’ve deduced what you’re going to say,” Draco drawled, earning a suspicious look from Hermione over her shoulder. He ignored it and turned back to Sirius. “It’s the  _ Event _ isn’t it?”

Sirius nodded, while varying looks of confusion crossed the others’ faces. Sirius turned to Harry, looking grim. “Your father and I were Aurors back in the day. Seventeen years ago, on September 29, 1989, around midnight, Mad-Eye sent us to investigate some Death Eaters who were attacking Muggles in the Forest of Dean. But we got there too late. I remember we were over a kilometer away when the sky shone bright. It was – incredible, a raw magic we’d never seen.”

Sirius swallowed, turning his attention to Hermione alone, looking far older than his 46 years. “Harry’s father – James – and I rushed into the forest and found virtually every living thing was obliterated. Except a young girl.” 

Hermione’s face went white and her eyes wide. “What are you saying?”

Sirius breathed, “We don’t know  _ exactly _ what happened. We knew there were Death Eaters involved, and the magic that was present was something primal. It wasn’t  _ dark; _ it was  _ old _ . The girl we found was distraught; James was able to extract from her mind some of what had happened. The girl,” he paused and swallowed, “ _ you  _ had witnessed something horrific – and magic reacted.”

“ _ I _ killed my parents?” Hermione blinked, her eyes watering. “ _ I _ caused the  _ Event _ ? But – the  _ Event _ was an anomaly!” Draco put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, and she held onto it for dear life, previous qualms momentarily irrelevant. Sirius’s story was unbelievable, except for the fact that it explained  _ everything: _ the timing, how she survived, what happened to her parents...

“I’m sorry,” Sirius told her earnestly. “Mad-Eye concocted the story about errant magic in an attempt to assuage the Muggles. He and James took away your magic and your memories. They didn’t know how you did it, but they thought it was best to take away your magic. And the only way for the spell to hold was for any memories associated with magic and the  _ Event _ itself to be removed.” 

“My dad knew about this?” Harry asked, his tone incredulous.

Sirius nodded. “James and I didn’t agree on how to handle the situation. I thought removing a person’s magic was tantamount to removing a limb. I suggested instead that we find a magical family to foster her. But James and Mad-Eye disagreed.” What remained unsaid was ‘ _ because she was too dangerous’, _ Hermione thought. 

It was odd. Hearing the details and taking a moment to soak everything in, it seemed incredibly obvious: her parents’ mysterious death right around the  _ Event _ , her magic and memories, the Corps being after her. “But why?  _ Why _ would I do that?” she asked quietly. 

“I don’t believe you  _ consciously _ did anything,” Sirius suggested. “What you did was something you couldn’t control; it was – raw. There hasn’t been a recording of such magic in over a millennium. It’s why you weren’t held accountable.”

“Who were the Death Eaters?” Draco asked, looking genuinely angry. “I mean, it was  _ their _ fault, wasn’t it?” 

Hermione frowned, oddly comforted that Draco immediately blamed  _ them _ rather than  _ her. _ She was still trying to accept this new reality she found herself in, where she as a child had somehow personally upended the world. Yet here Draco was, already somehow okay with her role in everything.

Sirius nodded, looking at Draco strangely. “From Hermione’s memories, we believe they were Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.”

Draco’s eyes darted around in a calculating manner, as if he was finally putting pieces together. “That’s what happened to Aunt Bella?” he mumbled.

Hermione looked horrified. “That woman who attacked my parents was your  _ aunt _ ?”

“Well, she was also my  _ cousin _ .” Sirius shrugged.

“Isn’t that quite a coincidence?” Hermione pointed out. “I mean, the two of you are related _ –  _ what are the odds?”

Sirius looked at Draco thoughtfully. “Purebloods were somewhat notorious for marrying each other, so it’s not  _ really _ that surprising. I actually have a tapestry around here that shows the Black family tree. I’m sure we could find a Potter and a Weasley if we looked hard enough.” 

Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Ginny and Harry pointedly  _ did not _ look at one another.

“Alright. So you, James Potter, and Major General Moody knew about me. I guess it’s been Major General Moody directing the recent Corps efforts,” Hermione surmised.

Sirius shrugged. “I haven’t spoken to Mad-Eye or Potter since that day. But it makes sense.”

Hermione looked around the room, still trying to come to terms with the revelation. She had been considering herself a victim in all of this, a victim to whomever had taken her memory and her powers. But now – she suddenly realized she was single-handedly responsible for one of the most devastating events in human history. Even though the actual body count of the _Event_ wasn’t necessarily high, at least relative to later fundamentalist nuclear attacks, it was the catalyst for a new world order. 

Her rational mind attempted to make sense of everything. She could actually understand Mad-Eye and James Potter’s reactions. She was constantly justifying the need for the regulation of magic to Draco; having lived most of her life believing she was non-magical, she appreciated the need to sacrifice in order to ensure the well being of all. 

What still didn’t necessarily make sense to her was the Corps’ behavior. When her lack of magic started influencing others, that should have been a sign that the spell to suppress her magic was going awry. Perhaps they realized the spell was failing and sent her out to the middle of nowhere out of fear of another  _ Event? _

“Is General Moody that afraid of me?” Hermione asked, further thinking about just how much effort the Corps had made to capture her.

Sirius looked thoughtful. “I don’t know if it was  _ you _ so much as the  _ truth _ he was worried about. We’ve kept this secret a long time...” 

As much as she wanted to be angry, and on some level she was, she understood the General’s fear – that if the non-magicals found out a single magical child was responsible for the  _ Event _ , there could be a return to the dark times. Or at the very least, civil unrest.

“Thank you,” Hermione told Sirius, wearing a slight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Sirius frowned at Hermione, looking oddly sober. “It really wasn’t your fault. You do understand that? What happened, it was magic incarnate. You can’t blame yourself.” 

She nodded, though she still struggled to accept his words; to reconcile this idea that she was simultaneously responsible for and yet not at fault for the  _ Event. _

There was a moment of silence where it seemed everyone was trying to process the revelation, the soft  _ tick tick _ of a nearby grandfather clock and murmurs of portraits the only sounds in the room.

“So,” Harry said, facing Sirius. “You just took away her memories and left her? What happened next?” 

“We managed to remove her from the scene before any of the non-magical authorities got there. James and Lily were able to convince her sister’s family to take her in,” Sirius explained. “Made some sort of deal  _ – _ moved them all to a safe house in Cambridge in exchange for them keeping Hermione safe.”

Hermione frowned. “I thought they were family friends?”

Sirius shrugged. “I’m sorry; I imagine that was part of the memory adjustment.”

Hermione nodded, and suddenly Harry looked horrified by a dawning realization. “They just  _ left _ her with the _ Dursleys?” _ he exclaimed.

Sirius just shrugged. Hermione found it oddly comforting that Harry seemed more appalled about what  _ happened  _ to her than what she  _ did _ .

“They weren’t terrible,” Hermione assured Harry.

“Alright,” Ginny started after a few moments of silence. “That was  _ – _ a lot. But it still doesn’t explain what  _ he’s _ doing here.” She pointed towards Draco. “We have reason to be wary of Death Eaters at the moment.”

Hermione implored, “Please, Draco.”

Draco looked torn. “I don’t know these people.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’m Officer Ginny Weasley, and this is Representative Harry Potter. I’m assuming you’ve figured out who Sirius is at this point.”

Draco drawled, “Yes, but who  _ are _ you?”

Hermione explained to Draco, “I don’t know Harry personally, but he’s rather famous – he’s a Progressive Representative in Parliament.” 

“Have you two not been watching the news?” Ginny frowned.

“We’ve been on the run for nearly two weeks. Haven’t exactly had access to a television,” Hermione pointed out.

“I’m dead,” Harry started dramatically, earning looks of confusion. “Well, that’s what we want people to believe.”

Ginny elaborated, “He survived two murder attempts last month.”

Hermione nodded and thought back to an earlier comment. “And you all believe there’s a Death Eater connection?”

Ginny shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.”

“Do you know anything about this?” Hermione asked Draco.

He put his hands up. “I promise, I’ve never heard of Harry Potter or any Death Eater plot against him.”

Ginny watched him carefully. “As much as I want to trust you, I don’t. So explain precisely why you’re here in the WEA, or I’ll convert one of the many rooms here into a makeshift prison.” 

Draco looked at Hermione. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

She nodded. “I expected nothing less.”

He paused, watching the others eye him with varying degrees of suspicion. “I was sent by the Dark Lord — to find  _ you. _ ” He looked at Hermione, his hands clasped behind his back to keep from shaking. Her face was closed off, but he caught a flash of hurt in her eyes before they narrowed. The other three appeared confused.

“ _ Find _ me? Why?” Hermione asked.

“He believes you’re the subject of a prophecy – that you’re a chosen one who will return wizarding might and enable witches and wizards to reproduce as usual,” he told her.

“Holy shit,” Harry exclaimed.

“What?” Hermione shouted, in response to  _ both  _ men. “What prophecy?” she asked Draco.

He sighed and chanted: 

> _ “17 years past magic’s great reveal, _
> 
> _ In the land claimed by magic, _
> 
> _ The chosen shall rise. _
> 
> _ The chosen alone will have the power to choose, _
> 
> _ To retrieve what was taken, _
> 
> _ And restore what was lost, _
> 
> _ Lest it be the end for us all.” _

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Draco. “Ignoring my inherent skepticism of the mystic arts, why would Voldemort think this applies to me?”

“He’s crazy,” Harry pointed out, rubbing his temples. “He told Astoria’s dad he was working to solve the birth rate issue. But everyone knows prophecies are fickle – typically self-fulfilling and only objective in hindsight. We could sit here and argue all day about the validity of this.”

While Hermione found this a comforting explanation, she wasn’t sure how she felt about being the potential subject of a prophecy. Turning to Harry, she asked, “Could all of this be connected? The timing seems quite coincidental. Draco shows up in my woods, and there’s a Death Eater plot against you?”

Harry exhaled, “Potentially. That’s what we were discussing before you arrived. We’re trying to figure out why Voldemort would collude with the Isolationists and Separatists.” He opened his mouth as though to say more but stopped himself.

“Because he’s Voldemort,” Sirius said as though it were obvious. The other four looked at him curiously, and he elaborated. “He’s always wanted to rule  _ all  _ of the magical world. I’m guessing he was just waiting until the prophecy came into play.”

An odd silence overcame the room, and everyone looked at Draco. “What?” he asked.

“I think everyone’s wondering what to do with you.” Hermione looked at him sadly.

“I told you the truth,” he replied.

“But what if you hadn’t been forced to? Would you have somehow brought me to Voldemort?” Hermione asked, swallowing.

Draco twitched slightly, scratching at his right shoulder. “No. I decided in Bath I wasn’t going to follow through.” He looked at her expectantly, his eyes pleading.

Hermione simply nodded, her expression remaining neutral, though her lip momentarily quivered.

“But who are you loyal to?” Ginny asked. 

Draco gave a humorless chuckle. “Right now, honestly? No one.”

“But you haven’t quite told us everything,” Hermione pointed out, referring to their recent ordeal with Snape. 

“ _ That _ has nothing to do with this,” Draco pleaded with her.

She looked at him thoughtfully, and nodded, turning towards Ginny who seemed to hold the authority. “I’m assuming, based on your earlier statement, you want us to remain here until the situation with Harry Potter is resolved?” 

Ginny nodded. 

Hermione took a moment to consider the facts. Nothing had substantively changed between her and Draco; she had known all along he had been lying, had even guessed that he knew more about her then he ever let on. While the existence of a dubious prophecy was interesting, it didn’t necessarily make him more or less of a liar. She also trusted that whatever Snape had shown him in Cokesworth was personal, based on Draco’s reaction.

She recalled what Snape told  _ her _ – about Dumbledore and his plans to defeat Voldemort. And how he’d be waiting for her. She felt she had solved one puzzle just to find another one; she suddenly felt like a pawn in a game she never agreed to play. 

Whatever was happening, she believed Draco was just as much a bit player as she was a pawn, despite his participation being voluntary at the onset. “I’m willing to vouch for him,” she told Ginny, explaining further. “He’s helped me, and while I may not always trust him to be truthful, I do not believe he means us harm.”

Ginny looked at her and spoke slowly, “Are you sure?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. I’m getting the feeling we’re all being moved around like pieces on a chessboard. To see who’s behind all of this, I believe our best bet is to work together.”

* * *

“Come in,” Ginny shouted in response to the knock at her door. She smiled as Harry tentatively walked into her room, a pensive expression marking his face.

“Strange day,” Harry told her, sitting on her bed as she did a series of push-ups and other conditioning exercises.

“Agreed.” 

“Do you trust them?” Harry frowned.

Ginny stopped and took a sip of water. “They legitimately didn’t seem concerned with you, so I trust that they’re not involved in your murder attempts. So in that way, it’s not so much that I trust them as I don’t see them as a threat. But,” she paused, “it’s all so coincidental. I asked Sirius how often it is that people show up at his door unannounced. He said  _ he can’t recall the last time!” _

Harry nodded. “I spoke with Hermione, one on one. She seems quite intelligent – and expressed a similar level of disbelief at the sheer coincidence but – if there  _ is _ a prophecy at play, perhaps that’s explanation enough.”

Ginny grunted, “I hate prophecies. I took divination in secondary and nearly failed a paper where I was expected to explain the self-fulfilling nature of prophecies.”

Harry snorted, “I know what you mean. I dropped divination myself. My teacher kept trying to tell me that in another life I had a magical scar on my forehead.” He smiled and shook his head at the memory. “My gut is telling me to trust Hermione, and that Draco, as sketchy as he is, seems to at least be loyal to  _ her _ .”

Ginny smirked. “You caught that too?”

“That was a  _ lot _ of tension!” Harry laughed.

“Well, we’re all here. Perhaps with someone as smart as Hermione around, we’ll finally figure out what’s going on,” Ginny commented. She looked at Harry, her smile fading. “Is something else up?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it...” he started. “The  _ Event _ . I just – I had  _ no idea _ . I guess I always assumed my dad was changed because of my mum’s death. But now that I’m thinking about it, I wonder if he never got over what they did to Hermione.”

“I wonder why she has remembered some of her past but not the  _ Event _ . That’s odd right?” Ginny considered.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to remember something like that, even if it was out of my control.” He shivered at the thought.

Ginny got up and sat next to him on the bed. “Does it make you think about your father in a different light?”

Harry paused, biting his lower lip. “Maybe a little. I still think he focuses on the wrong things, but I’m guessing based on what he saw, he’s just so scared of the possible chaos – it’s why he fights so hard.” 

Ginny nodded. “It’s interesting. Your father threw himself into politics, ensuring the continued existence of the WEA. Mad-Eye became a Major General in the Corps, presumably to preserve the safety of everything. And Sirius just – gave up.”

Harry grabbed her left hand, lightly drawing figure 8’s on her palm. “Do you think they made the right choice? By taking Hermione’s magic and memories?”

Ginny grabbed his other hand, forcing him to look at her. “I think a young girl saw something horrible, and then something impossible happened. I don’t think there  _ was _ a right choice. I think it was right that they didn’t blame her.” Ginny paused. “But, I don’t quite understand why the Corps or Mad-Eye behaved as they have. Sirius must be right – fear of the truth getting out. But still, it’s a bit disconcerting, given the Corps’ views on transparency.”

They sat in silence for a moment, hand in hand. Harry smiled at her. “I should get going.” 

Ginny nodded. “Yeah, you probably should.” But the sentiment didn’t match the look in her eyes.

“No, really,” Harry whispered, leaning towards her. “I should  _ definitely _ get going.”

Ginny brushed her fingers through his hair and leaned in, kissing him softly. He didn’t seem bothered by the beads of sweat on her brow or the fact she was in ratty workout clothes she’d transfigured from some of Sirius’ old junk. Harry grabbed at her waist, drawing them closer together. He deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue against her lips, demanding entrance, his hands grasping under her shirt.

She pushed Harry onto his back playfully, reddening at the brilliant smile he gave her in response. He ripped off his glasses and pulled her down so that she was tucked in the crook of his arm. They faced one another, lying on the bed, faces inches apart.

Ginny realized it was becoming familiar, the feel of Harry’s lips pressing against hers. She was starting to recognize his every groan, mumble and murmur in a way that both elated her and terrified her. 

Harry would sometimes just look at her, like there was nothing else he would rather do than lay there with her, in spite of who he was. In those moments, she almost pinched herself, not sure if this could be real. He was  _ Harry Potter _ – a statesman for goodness’ sakes – and she was just a Corps Officer, a  _ Weasley.  _ But when he smiled at her, they weren’t either of those things. 

She realized he wasn’t a caricature of his position – it was a mistake she had made when they had that conversation all those weeks ago in his office. In a lot of ways, he wasn’t really a politician. He was a  _ hero, _ a man who wanted to make his mark on the world and make it a better place. She wondered if his life would ever satisfy him, and she felt worry creep into her cheeks.

“What is it, Gin?” he asked, his hand gently rubbing her arm. Somehow even without his glasses on, he was still able to detect the worry lines on her face.

“Just thinking,” she breathed, kissing him gently and curling herself into him, saving thoughts of the future for a different day.

* * *

Hermione and Draco awkwardly moved about the guest room that Ginny required they share as part of Hermione’s vouching for Draco. He seemed to be passive-aggressively moving things around the room, like a petulant child upset his toy was taken. 

Hermione exhaled eventually, giving in. “What?” she spat.

“Nothing,” he grunted, giving her a pointed look before returning to prepare for sleep.

“No, you’re moping. Just out with it.” She gestured with her hand.

“Alright.” He put down his tooth brush and turned to face her. “You turned your  _ wand _ on me.”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a slight shrug.

“Seriously? After everything that’s happened, you didn’t have my back?” he asked, nearly yelling.

She laughed sardonically. “What did you expect?”

“I expected you to have a little bit of trust in me.” He managed to look both hurt and indignant simultaneously.

“Really? Because I should just trust you when all you’ve done is lie?” she bit back.

“Why do you act like it’s so simple?! You’ve told me pretty much  _ every day _ you don’t trust me. But until today  _ it never seemed to matter! _ You  _ slept _ with me knowing full well I was lying to you! So, what changed?” 

“Is that what you’re hung up on?” she asked, exasperated.

“I don’t understand you.” He shook his head.

“And I don’t understand  _ you _ ,” she spat. “You lied about why you’re here, about knowing who I was. And now I find out you  _ are _ in fact engaged. So, what is it? And why didn’t you just tell me? After everything we’ve been through... Had you still not decided whether you were going to hand me over to Voldemort?” 

He swallowed, looking somewhat contrite. “I wasn’t! I told you, it’s been a while since I had any desire to follow the Dark Lord’s request.”

“So why didn’t you say anything?” she questioned, her arms raised. “You had every opportunity – all of the long bus rides, the nights up talking…”

“I was going to. After Bath. But then everything with the Minister happened…” he trailed off.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Draco?” she repeated, shaking her head.

“It’s... complicated.” He paused. 

“Well, maybe you should have thought about that – before  _ lying! _ ” She bellowed the last word before calming herself. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to go to bed.” And before he could respond, she buried herself under the covers, feeling the chasm between them grow wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😅
> 
> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> I appreciate any and all comment/reviews/emotions/GIFs!


	28. Chapter 28

_ Cambridge _   
_ November 9, 2006 _

Draco and Hermione had been in Cambridge for two days, and the tension between them had grown so thick, Ginny had started making crude comments. Draco spent his days exploring the townhouse, looking through old Black artifacts and relishing in a few old photographs he found of his mother. Hermione, unsurprisingly, discovered the library.

The most entertaining moment of their stay was when Dobby realized Draco was a Malfoy and seemed to go through some sort of existential crisis until Draco told him to treat Sirius as his master. Of course, this earned both Draco and Sirius a harsh lecture from Hermione on the ethics of owning house elves. 

Draco and Hermione had yet to have a substantive conversation since their fight. Hermione was still wary of Draco and the secrets he had kept, and Draco felt betrayed over Hermione pulling a wand on him, regardless of whether she was justified in doing so. 

There was a general sense in the house that they were all in the calm before the storm. Ginny, Hermione, and Harry spent a lot of time together going over the details of their individual ordeals, trying to identify previously unrealized connections. Sirius drank moderately and reminisced on his Hogwarts days, regaling whomever would listen about the tales of the Marauders. 

They were eating dinner two nights after Hermione and Draco’s arrival, and Sirius was explaining a particularly rowdy tale from Hogwarts involving a self-aware suit of armor, the Whomping Willow, and a poltergeist. While Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were in near hysterics by the end, Draco frowned, shuffling his vegetables around his plate.

Hermione furrowed her brows. “What’s wrong?” she asked him.

Draco shrugged. “I’ve just – never seen any poltergeists or suits of armor around Hogwarts. Makes me wonder how radically different it is now.”

Sirius looked a bit too drunk to really care, but Hermione recalled something Draco said in Aberdeen, shortly after they left the Uninhabitable Zone: 

_ “...The older generation tells me it’s not the same as it once was. Apparently, there used to be ghosts about, and the stairwells moved without prodding. Some even say that Hogwarts was once alive – not just sentient, but truly alive. I think she’s hibernating now, waiting for the next class of students.”  _

She considered, “Could this possibly be evidence of Voldemort having a negative influence on Hogwarts?”

“This was a Dumbledore theory, right? He thinks Voldemort is somehow negatively impacting the magical nexus Hogwarts was built on?” Harry asked. The group had already discussed Hermione and Draco’s conversation with Minister Snape, and Harry considered Dumbledore no more sane than Voldemort.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, but I’ve spent substantial time reading about magic and Hogwarts in the library here. The books do agree with Snape and Draco’s claims that Hogwarts sits on a magical nexus, susceptible to whomever currently holds power over it. I believe that’s why the Hogwarts founders made it a school – assuming that as a place of learning, there would be a symbiotic relationship between its inhabitants and the magic. Think about it — students come to Hogwarts, they absorb the magic there, but they also give it back by performing spells, nurturing the grounds.

“But I’ve been thinking - what if, rather than students interacting with the nexus magic, it was instead a self-described  _ Dark Lord _ who encouraged the use of Dark Magic? Perhaps he’s using the magic from Hogwarts, so rather than a symbiotic relationship it is parasitic?”

“I don’t understand, why would the relationship between Hogwarts’ magic and its inhabitants turn from symbiotic to parasitic?” Harry asked, frowning.

Hermione blinked a few times and explained, “Think about it; when light magic is used it nurtures. When dark magic is used, it takes. So my theory is that Voldeort is somehow leeching nexus magic in some way. That could explain the decline in magical energy at Hogwarts...” She trailed off towards the end.

“What is it?” Harry asked, concerned.

“It’s just,” she paused, “everyone talks about Hogwarts as a _life-giving force_. We’ve hypothesized, and have a reasonable amount of evidence to support the hypothesis, that Hogwarts seems to have been losing its magic over the past fifteen years – since Voldemort claimed it. We also know, based on empirical data, that fifteen years ago the birth rate started to decline. For so long, we assumed the timing of the birth rate decline had to do with the nuclear attacks, or perhaps with the merging of the magical and non-magical. But what if the birth rate decline has nothing to do with us and everything to do with Voldermort?”

Everyone turned to Draco, who shrugged. “I don’t know any more than you do. What I can tell you is that, as far as I’m aware, the Dark Lord believes that non-magicals are responsible for the birth rate problem.”

“I don’t know.” Ginny looked thoughtful. “The timing  _ is  _ interesting – and I would love to see the birth rate problem be Voldemort’s fault, but it seems like a bit of a stretch.

Hermione nodded. “You’re correct of course, correlation is not causation.”

“Still.” Harry smiled at her. “It’s worth considering.”

* * *

Harry had taken to a sort of self-flagellation of watching the news every night after dinner. Ginny usually watched with him, while Sirius simply sat and read his old periodicals. Draco and Hermione rarely joined them: Draco found the news to be like listening to a foreign language, and Hermione was still too uncomfortable seeing her own face as ‘wanted.’ Thus, the pair came running from two different directions when they heard Harry scream.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, panting as she flew down from the library, watching Harry yell at the television and Ginny attempt to comfort him.

“They’re dragging her through the mud, Gin!” Harry cried out.

“She  _ knows _ what she’s doing,” Ginny reassured him.

“They’re accusing her of having an affair! They’re trying to discredit her!” Harry aggressively ran his fingers through his hair. 

Hermione looked at the TV and read the bottom ribbon:  _ Newly appointed parliamentary representative accused of cheating on her late fiancé Harry Potter. _ A series of photos were projected, showing her being friendly with a red headed man. “You think this is about the HPRA?” Hermione asked reluctantly. Harry had spent many a meal ranting about his namesake bill.

“Of course! This came out  _ the day _ after Daphne publicly announced she would be speaking against the bill,” Harry barked.

“So, just addressing the hippogriff in the room,” Draco said innocently, “is there  _ any _ chance the accusation is real?”

Harry rolled his eyes, and Ginny responded. “I was the one who introduced Daphne and Ron. They met  _ maybe  _ three weeks ago? I’m fairly confident that these pictures were taken  _ after _ Harry’s so-called death.” She paused, then commented, “Though they do look kind of cute together.”

“You people are confusing.” Draco shook his head and left, not quite appreciating the political complexities of Harry’s world.

“I can’t let them destroy her reputation like this,” Harry said, looking at Ginny.

She nodded. “Look, Robards thinks they’re quite close to figuring out who tried to kill you. The vote’s not for another couple of days, and hopefully, we’ll be able to unveil the conspiracy by then.”

Harry shook his head. “Tell Robards they have two days.”

* * *

_ November 10, 2006 _

“Huh,” Hermione said, noticing the familiar symbol on the binding of the book in the ‘Family’ section of the Black library. She pulled out the tome, gently wiping a thin layer of dust off with her hand, reading the cover  _ ‘RAB.’ _ She frowned and started reading through it, her face growing progressively whiter.

“EVERYONE!” she shouted as she ran down to the living room, where at the moment Sirius appeared to be napping. “Sirius!” She poked him, softly at first, but eventually she started shaking him until he woke up.

“Wusit?” Sirius asked, a touch of drool dripping from his chin.

“Do you know who Regulus Black is?” Hermione asked.

Sirius’ countenance completely shifted. “He was my brother – but he was a Death Eater. He died a long time ago; killed by Voldemort or on Voldemort’s orders more likely.” He looked at the book in her hands. “Why?”

She nodded and waited as the other three came downstairs before explaining. “I found this journal in the Black library. I believe your brother was secretly working against Voldemort,” she explained, her eyes focused on Sirius.

A flash of emotion ran through Sirius. “That doesn’t sound like Reggie.”

“I almost didn’t notice this journal, but the symbol on the binding was curious.” She showed them, intentionally avoiding Draco’s flash of recognition before returning to her summary. “He explains in here that he thinks Voldemort is  _ immortal _ – that he believes Voldemort created  _ Horcruxes _ in order to ensure he survives anything.”

“Horcruxes?” Sirius physically shivered at the word.

“What are those?” Harry asked, frowning.

“I had to cross reference a few other books, but my understanding is they’re objects that contain a piece of the creator’s  _ soul _ ,” Hermione started. “From what I’ve read, a Horcrux can only be created through murder – which makes sense in a dark magic sort of way. So, Regulus’ theory is that Voldemort has made a series of these.” She looked at Draco now.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” he started, “but I have to admit, the Dark Lord doesn’t exactly look  _ human _ . I assumed it was from prolonged use of Dark Magic. So the desecration of his soul – that’s as good an explanation as any for it.”

“Does the journal explain  _ why _ Regulus had such a theory?” Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. “Apparently, Voldemort took Regulus’ house elf, Kreacher, to hide one of the Horcruxes. Kreacher told Regulus though, and Regulus was horrified and went  _ back _ to retrieve it. Later, Voldemort ended up killing Kreacher, and Regulus never figured out how to destroy the Horcrux. So he left this journal and the Horcrux, a locket, in his old house, hoping that someone would find it and figure it out.”

“A locket?” Sirius asked thoughtfully, considering the various odds and ends in the house, but he shook his head when nothing came to him.

“Okay, so let’s assume this is true. Voldemort is immortal, what does that mean?” Harry asked.

“I think it lends credence to my theory that Voldemort’s presence at Hogwarts is the source of the birth rate issue,” Hermione explained, her eyes alight. “Think about it. We have reasonable evidence, based on Draco’s experience in the castle, that Hogwarts is becoming less magical. We know Hogwarts is a nexus of sorts – though what that means precisely is still a mystery to me – so the next part of my hypothesis is based purely on conjecture.

“I believe there’s a magical element to  _ all _ life – not just magical life – that is connected to the Earth. An inherent part of the ecosystem. But what happens when someone who is immortal – physically  _ incapable  _ of dying – becomes the primary source of influence over a magical nexus? I think that magic stops allowing for human life – either because the magic doesn’t identify a need for new human life, or because the magic has been turned dark and is no longer capable of providing life.”

“So you think that somehow because Voldemort has made himself immortal, and he’s currently influencing or otherwise occupying the magical nexus at Hogwarts, that  _ he’s _ responsible for the birth rate decline?” Harry summarized.

Hermione nodded. “That’s my theory.”

The room was utterly silent, everyone considering Hermione’s words. 

“There are a lot of ‘if’s’ to that,” Draco pointed out. “Aren’t you worried that you’re simply matching evidence to meet your theory?”

Hermione frowned. “I would ordinarily agree this seems to be a case of confirmation bias. But in this instance, given the level of kismet that seems to have brought us here, I think it’s worth exploring. I’m not saying it’s a proven hypothesis, but rather that it  _ is _ one. And to be frank, this theory regarding the birth rate decline is more substantive than anything I found after two years of researching the issue in the Uninhabitable Zone.” 

Sirius grabbed the journal from Hermione, frowning at his brother’s initials. He jumped when a locket fell out of the journal, burning his hand. “Ah!” 

Hermione, ever the scientist, grabbed a nearby handkerchief to protect her hands before picking up the item. “This is it!” she remarked. “He must have spelled the book in some way to only reveal the Horcrux to a family member. Or perhaps he coded it to Sirius specifically, since Sirius was known to have ties to the Order!”

“How can you be sure it’s a Horcrux?” Ginny asked, looking at the locket skeptically.

“Here.” She gave it to Ginny, whose eyes widened the moment she touched the locket.

“Yeah. I buy that could be a bit of Voldemort’s soul.” Ginny shivered and backed away from the object, which now lay on the floor.

“Alright, so what now?” Harry asked.

“Unfortunately, the only way I can think of to prove my theory would be to destroy all the Horcruxes and see if the birth rate increases afterward,” Hermione explained with a faint smile, aware of precisely how challenging her proposal was.

“How would we even go about doing something like that?” Ginny asked. “And how would we even know how many there are?”

“Well, I would have to explore more, but the number “7” seems to consistently be a magically significant number. If Voldemort made more than one Horcrux, which Regulus obviously believed to be the case, it may have been in order to split his soul into seven pieces, perhaps hoping it would provide him more power. That would indicate there are six Horcruxes, since presumably a portion of his soul still remains within him...” Hermione paused, biting at the inside of her cheek. “Perhaps further analysis of the  _ Pureblood Manifesto  _ could assist with identifying Horcruxes? Though the book isn’t much of an autobiography…”

“Dumbledore!” Sirius exclaimed, standing up with the rest of them, looking sober for the first time in days. “He was the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, a group that fought Voldemort back in the 70s and 80s. They say he was the only man Voldemort ever feared. If anyone would know what Voldemort would use for a Horcrux and where to find them, it would be him.”

“And I just so happen to have a portkey that goes to Dumbledore,” Hermione pointed out. Her gaze shifted to Draco. “But I don’t think I can be the one to go to Dumbledore.”

“What is it?” Draco asked warily; the tension was still thick between them.

“I need to see Hogwarts,” she explained. “I need to find this nexus, if possible. And we need someone on the  _ inside _ – to take care of any Horcruxes he may have nearby.”

“You’re not serious,” Harry interjected.

Hermione shrugged. “If Draco was sent to get me, then we have a perfectly reasonable explanation for showing up.”

“It’s dangerous! Besides, we can’t trust him!” Ginny pointed out, her head gesturing towards Draco. “If Voldemort finds out what we’re doing–”

“I won’t say anything to him,” Draco said, his voice steady. “I’m not loyal to him. Not anymore. I want him gone just as much as you all, probably more.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at his last words, trying to figure out what he could possibly be referring to.

“I want to believe you.” Harry frowned at Draco. “But if Hermione’s right, there’s too much at stake. This is the future of humanity.”

Draco was momentarily frozen, all eyes in the room watching him carefully. In a sense, they had all been waiting for that moment, where they had to decide what precisely to do with the Death Eater in their midst. It was just another reminder they were living on the edge of an oncoming storm. 

“The Dark Lord killed my mother,” Draco whispered, fixing his gaze on the floor. 

“Oh no,” Hermione’s face fell. “But I thought you said she died in childbi–”

“Yes, that’s what my father told me.” Draco swallowed. “But Snape showed me a memory; he saw the Dark Lord kill her – I was maybe a month old.” His gaze locked on hers, and she could see his vulnerability in that moment. This wasn’t another lie or manipulation, this was something he truly believed. 

“But—” Hermione attempted to recollect the conversation they had with Snape that day. “Why?”

Draco shrugged. “Snape said it was revenge.”

Harry and Ginny looked to one another. “How can we truly believe you?” Harry asked finally, his face sympathetic.

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” he bit out.

“I think it’s worth the risk,” Hermione interjected. “Without him, I can’t get to Hogwarts. And it’s hard to imagine we can solve this otherwise.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Alright, if you two are going to Hogwarts, then I’ll go to Dumbledore.”

“That’s ridiculous, Harry,” Ginny objected. “We can bring in Corps officers and other experts! You don’t need to do this.”

Harry shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, right now the only people aware of the Horcruxes, other than Voldemort himself, are in this room. We need to keep it that way. After tomorrow, I’m going.” He smiled at Ginny. “I assume you’re coming with me?”

She shook her head at Harry’s antics, but agreed nonetheless. “Of course.”

“Alright.” Hermione pulled the portkey Snape had given her out of her bag, tossing it to Harry. “I guess that leaves Draco and I to figure out how we’re going to get in and out of Hogwarts— ”

“I’m more interested in the  _ out _ than  _ in _ ,” Draco drawled.

Sirius mumbled something, and a piece of parchment flew to him. “Here—” he gave the parchment to Hermione with a nostalgic look in his eye, “— this is the Marauder’s Map; James, Remus, a traitorous rat, and I made it while we were at Hogwarts. In our time, we uncovered quite a few secret passageways in and out of the school. This will show you them, as well as the location of anyone within the school.”

“Thank you.” Hermione nodded to Sirius before turning to Draco. “If we can get to an Apparition zone, can you get us to Hogsmeade?”.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Hermione looked contemplative. “How will we communicate? Cell phones won’t work at Hogwarts.”

“Because of magical interference?” Draco surmised.

“No, because there are no cell towers,” Hermione corrected.

Sirius smiled before summoning a few more items. “Two-way mirrors.” He handed one to Hermione and the other to Harry. “And—” he handed Harry a shimmering cloak, “—if you’re going on some sort of adventure, you should have this.”

Harry looked at the fabric in his hands, mesmerized. “What is it?”

“Your father’s invisibility cloak,” Sirius told him, eyes distant as he relived an old memory. “He left it at my place at some point before we had a falling out. It really belongs to you.” Sirius looked at all of them in turn. “So the lesson here, kids, is sometimes hoarding pays off.”

There was a long stretch of silence as the reality of their plans began to sink in.

“Alright, so, tomorrow?” Hermione looked at Harry, Ginny, and Draco.

“Tomorrow.”

* * *

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Draco asked Hermione as they prepared for sleep, ending the silence that had marked their evenings in Cambridge since their fight that first night.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione replied honestly. “But I think it needs to be done.”

“There’s only so much I can do for you when we get there,” Draco pointed out. “I’ll have to act loyal to him. And to be clear, I don’t know what his plans are for you.”

“And what about your fiancée?” Hermione asked, refusing to look directly at him.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me,” he told her, still leaving a dozen questions dangling. He was quiet for a moment. “Do you trust me?”

“I want to,” she told him honestly.

“The last couple of nights, I’ve been thinking about, well,  _ us _ ,” he started. “...And, you know,  _ that  _ night. I recall what you said to me, right before you kissed me. You said  _ ‘I still don’t trust you’. _ ”

“I remember.”

“What does that mean? How can you go to Hogwarts with me, but you don’t trust me? You’ll  _ sleep _ with me, but then you’ll turn your wand on me! I don’t understand it!” he ranted.

“You’re kidding me, right?” she asked, blinking. “You’ve been  _ lying _ to me this  _ whole time _ . You’re part of the organization that  _ attacked my parents –” _

“And you’ve known all of that for  _ weeks! _ You may not have known what I was lying about, but you knew I was lying. I’m not suggesting you should trust everything I say, but trust  _ me _ .” His eyes were wide.

“What are you even talking about? What’s the difference! Who are you, if not your actions and your words? You want me to trust you? So do I! I want it more than  _ anything... _ ” she trailed off, blood rushing to her neck.

“Hermione.” He stepped towards her. “I want you to trust me with  _ you _ . Not with anything or anyone else. Those are – details. I want you to know that at the end of the day, whatever side I’m on, that I’ll look out for  _ you _ .”

“Why?” she asked him, her eyes darting around the room, trying to figure out his meaning. She stood there, wearing a scant camisole and shorts, completely unaware of her effect on him.

“Do you really have to ask?” he said and closed the space between them, pressing his lips to hers. He was demanding, and she responded at once, urging his mouth open with her tongue. He pushed her against the wall, his hands roaming, trying to use the pressure of his thumb and the graze of his fingers to tell her what words couldn’t.

Her fingers crept up his shirt, grazing his sides, a response of sorts. He heard it in the words she almost said, saw it in the way her eyes would shift suddenly: she wanted this, wanted him, even though it scared her. She wrapped a leg around his waist, pushing her core against him. Her mouth froze as she moaned, a delicious, almost primal cry, demanding  _ more _ .

There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t have the words. How could he explain to her, in a way that she would understand, how profoundly she had affected him? 

He pressed his hand into her shorts, lightly caressing her clit, eliciting more noises and a thrust of her hips. She clung to him, pushing against his fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing at her neck, sucking at a spot behind her ear while she continued to writhe under his touches. “I should have told you everything.”

“Draco…” she moaned, shutting him up with a kiss. She clung to his neck, her legs beginning to vibrate from his movements. As though with just the right flick or rub, she’d collapse entirely. 

He managed to move them to the bed, the pair stumbling in their haste to tear off their clothes. They lay side by side, momentarily separated until Hermione pressed forward, burying her fingers in his hair and biting at his upper lip. He let his fingers graze across her side, relishing her every shiver and twinge as she clung to him. 

He wondered if she knew he had been stuck in the shadows before her – that his life in Hogwarts had been nothing but a reflection of reality. That meeting her, seeing the world through her eyes, had changed him profoundly. Or rather, allowed him to be  _ more _ in a way he had never fathomed; more than simply a soldier, more than just the Dark Lord’s pawn. She showed him that the world was more than simply magic and he could be a part of it.

Her hand brushed at his length, and her eyes opened, a desperate plea within them. He watched her, taking in the way her lip trembled, the preternatural way her hair expanded and contracted.

He shifted, hovering over her, poised at her entrance, still watching her, memorizing her every line and blemish. She wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing his lips to hers, urging him forward. 

He buried himself within her, closing his eyes momentarily and savoring the feel of her moans as they passed from her throat to his. It wasn’t like the first time. That had been the culmination of weeks of tension, a release of pressure. This was an apology and forgiveness wrapped together. A promise of sorts – that in spite of the chasm that had developed between them, he was on her side, whether or not she believed it.

As he continued to move within her, his legs beginning to quake, he felt irrevocably connected to her in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. They moved together, their hands wandering desperately and breaths growing heavy. 

When they finally collapsed, breathless and light, a heap of limbs knotted together, he cupped her face with his hand, his gaze intense. “Because I love you, Hermione,” he told her, finally answering her earlier question. He said it knowing she wouldn’t reciprocate, knowing that her fear and distrust ruled her.

She looked at him, as though she were searching for something, and rather than answer, she kissed him gently. She tucked herself into his side, letting the silence and Draco’s admission wash over them.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked her.

“When did it happen?” she asked. “When did you stop being a Death Eater? Was it Snape?”

He frowned and watched her, wondering if that was truly what she wanted to know. “It was that night in Bath, at the concert. When everyone was singing together, the magicals and the non-magicals alike. It was as though for one moment, we were all the same. And I realized — the Dark Lord was wrong.”

She nodded, though her eyes seemed far away, likely considering all of the ramifications of his statement or a thousand other little things.

“Do me a favor?” he asked. She looked at him expectantly. “Let’s just think about right  _ now _ . Because I don’t know what will happen after.”

She nodded, and he felt her relax, her breathing eventually slowing as she fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

_ November 11, 2006 _

The atmosphere at the breakfast table was solemn as everyone focused on their tasks ahead.

Ginny’s fork clacked against her plate, and she turned to Harry. “Are you ready for this?” 

He nodded. “Robards indicated on the call that the ring leaders of the conspiracy have been apprehended. So, we go to London, ensure the HPRA gets voted down, then portkey to Dumbledore.”

Ginny let out an exhale. “Busy day. Fox is going to help us get to the Parliament Meeting House using the back entrance, so hopefully you’ll be able to make a statement to Parliament before the press gets wind of you.”

Harry gave her a slight smile. “I’m not going to lie, I’m quite looking forward to it.”

Ginny rolled her eyes but smiled back before turning her attention to Hermione and Draco. “Here,” she said, their wands appearing in her hand as she reached across the table. 

Hermione closed her eyes momentarily as she placed the wand in its holster, feeling that now-familiar sense of warmth. 

“You guys have your plan?” Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded. “Yes. Sirius will provide a diversion while Draco and I head to the Apparition zone. Then, Draco will  _ Confound _ one of the guards at the checkpoint.”

Ginny furrowed her brows momentarily. “Don’t forget – offensive spells are typically identified by satellites within 60 seconds of casting. You’ll need to move fast to make it from the checkpoint to the actual zone before you get caught.”

Hermione gave her a slight nod, moving her fork around her plate and sending glances Draco’s way.

After breakfast, the motley group said their good-byes. Hermione looked around her: the retired drunk Auror, the presumed dead politician, the young Officer, the Death Eater, and her – the scientist turned witch. It was strange; they had known one another for less than a week, but she felt them bonded in some way – through their secrets, perhaps. She truly hoped that they would be enough to save the human race.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Heads up!** An interlude will be dropping tomorrow or Tuesday. This will be the Robards/Fox whodunnit interlude - where we'll see what they've been up to while our characters have been relaxing in Cambridge. While most interludes are 'optional', this one is pretty important.
> 
> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/emotions/GIFs!


	29. Chapter 29: Long Time Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This interlude takes place on November 10th, meaning the day before our friends in Cambridge are preparing to leave.

_ Interlude: Long Time Gone _  
_ London _  
_ November 10, 2006  _

Robards and Fox sat in a van outside Elijah Parkinson’s flat, watching the portable computer monitor. The picture grew progressively clearer as their magical bug slowly worked its way into his domicile.

The boy who had dropped off the blackmail package at Daphne Greengrass’s house had been happy to provide a description of the man who approached him; or more precisely, the boy’s  _ mother _ had been happy to browbeat her son into compliance. From this description, they had honed in on Parkinson as the likely culprit, and had followed him around with their magical bug for two days. They had finally overheard an ominous conversation suggesting a meeting that would take place at his London residence.

“Who’s that?” Fox leaned towards the monitor, pointing at one of the men who entered. The image was still fuzzy, the bug continuing to magically work its way through the room.

“It looks like Anton Greengrass,” Robards murmured, tilting his head to the side to get a better view.

Another man entered, and both of their eyes went wide in recognition. “Malcolm Flint?” Fox commented. He furrowed his brows, watching the three men shake hands and toast cheers with tumblers of whiskey.

The image cleared up, and sound began to stream through:

_ “Are we all set for tomorrow?” Greengrass asked. _

_ “We should be all set – we have the votes in hand.” Parkinson smiled, taking a long sip of his drink. _

_ “The Dark Lord will be pleased.” Flint grinned, appearing genuinely happy with the prospect. “When the magical world is once more separate from the Muggle, we’ll be ready for him. “ _

Robards turned to Fox, his eyes calculating. “So they did all of this to bring back  _ Voldemort _ ?” Robards mumbled aloud in question.

Fox shrugged. “So far, they haven’t admitted to anything really.”

_ “I’m not thrilled your daughter is speaking tomorrow,” Parkinson bemoaned to Greengrass. _

_ Greengrass looked unbothered. “I gave her the chance to be on the right side of this. I assumed with Potter dead, she’d come around. I’ve always taught her to be practical. But apparently she has too much of her mother in her... regardless, I don’t think we have anything to worry about.” _

_ “Well, we appreciate the sacrifices you made, Anton.” Flint nodded to the man. _

_ Greengrass chuckled, shaking his head. “She’ll survive, she’s a Greengrass. And I bet at the end of the day, she’ll be stronger for it. Sure, she’ll grieve Potter but she’ll move on. Harry Potter was far more trouble than he was worth by the end – too much of an idealist for this world…” _

“Is that enough?” Fox asked Robards, who shushed him:

_ “Well, you were right about how people would react to his death. Just the smallest suggestion here... rumor there... it’s amazing how fast people can be turned. All it took was a Muggle bomb, and everyone jumped to conclusions.” Parkinson laughed.  _

“That’s enough,” Robards confirmed, placing a call into Central Justice and the Corps for backup.

* * *

_ Later that afternoon _

“So, just to make sure we understand, you used your relationship with your daughter to try to overturn the lawful government of the WEA, murder a Parliamentary representative, and bring Voldemort to power? For what?” Robards asked Anton Greegrass.

Anton remained silent, refusing to speak. 

Minutes passed until finally, Solicitor Amelia Bones ran in, slightly out of breath. “My apologies for my tardiness.” She took a seat next to her client and pulled out a notebook.

Robards resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Obviously, she  _ wasn’t _ late, given that until thirty minutes ago, she had no reason to believe her client would be held for questioning.

Bones and Greengrass had a whispered conversation, and she cleared her throat. “At this time, my client will not be answering any questions.”

Fox shrugged. “That’s fine, honestly. Between what we got on the recording and Parkinson and Flint’s accounts, we don’t particularly need your side of the story.”

Bones’ eyes went wide, and she whispered something to Greengrass who gave a reluctant nod.

“What can you offer my client in exchange for his cooperation?” she asked.

Robards furrowed his brows. “Well, we can’t promise anything, given the nature of the charges against him. But, if he can help to illuminate what happened, help to ensure that the Death Eaters aren’t able to gain a foothold in the WEA, we will provide a recommendation to the Ministers to go easy on his sentence.”

Bones nodded to Anton Greegrass, who looked torn but exhaled sharply and began. “The WEA’s not working. The combination of Muggle and magical was never supposed to happen; it was forced upon us by the  _ Event _ . The Dark Lord has offered us a solution to the birth rate problem if we prepare the Wizarding World for him.”

Robards leaned forward. “So you killed Harry Potter in order to effectively change the political climate and make it viable for Voldemort to return?”

Greengrass’s eyes twitched at the use of Voldemort’s name. “It was two for one. Harry Potter was one of the greatest threats to separation. By eliminating him, we removed an obstacle to separation and created a rallying point to obtain support from other magicals.”

Robards leaned back and nodded. 

Fox frowned. “What about Daphne?”

“What about her?” Anton looked bored.

“She could have easily been caught in either explosion…” Fox pointed out.

Anton gave them the ghost of a smile. “That was easy. Right before the first bomb was set to go off, I told Daphne’s sister she was forbidden to call her. I knew it was the one way to ensure she would, in fact, call her. As for the second, it was scheduled for the day Astoria would leave the WEA. I knew Daphne would be too distraught to go anywhere.”

“So, you plotted Harry Potter’s death and blackmailed your daughter,” Fox noted, “all for a self proclaimed ‘Dark Lord’?” He was still having trouble processing why the man would be so willing to risk everything.

Anton’s gaze was murderous. “It was  _ for _ her future. And her sister’s. The status quo isn’t working  _ – _ it’s time for a change. Like it or not, something eventually is going to give, and the WEA will topple.”

Fox sat back, carefully eyeing the man. “Alright. Thank you for your cooperation. We have just a few more questions…”


	30. Chapter 30

_London_   
_November 11, 2006_

“Ms. Greengrass!” 

Daphne covered her face with her right hand as she entered the Parliament Meeting House, her briefcase clutched in her left. 

The reporters weren’t deterred and continued shouting, “Can you tell us how long you have been seeing Ron Weasley? Was Harry Potter aware of your affair?”

She pushed her way through, mumbling a simple “excuse me” while otherwise attempting to keep her head held high. She had made her statement to the press already – nothing she said now would do anything but add fuel to the proverbial fire. She felt James Potter behind her, not quite as willing to keep quiet as he barked “no comment” and pushed his way through the crowd.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” she told him, shaking off the feeling of being violated.

“You’re doing great.” He gave her a reassuring smile. In the days since she had barged into his house, he had managed to turn himself around – something which she was eternally grateful for. He had been instrumental in developing her strategy and ensuring the voices speaking out against the HPRA would be heard.

She walked straight to the waiting area outside of the speaker box, her mind drifting back to a time, not long ago, when she escorted Harry here. She recalled his easy smile, the cavalier way he just acted like he would always _be alive_. 

_That was the day of the first bombing_ , she reminded herself. She heard noises coming from inside the room, the sound of laughter and applause. She had chosen not to listen to the remarks of the speaker in favor of the HPRA, knowing it would only anger her.

She had a good speech. She had the moral high ground. Now she just had to get Parliament to _listen_ to her.

“Representative Greengrass,” the Corps Sergeant called her name. She stepped forward, pausing at the threshold as she smiled lightly; the memory of Harry saluting her floated to the front of her mind. She nodded, exhaled, and stepped in.

“In opposition to the legislation titled the ‘Harry Potter Remembrance Act’, for the safe continuation of the magical and non-magical communities, The Honorable Daphne Greengrass – junior magical representative of England.” The WEA secretary looked at her cautiously and yielded his place at the podium to her.

She stood frozen, the murmurs and whispers surrounding her. The Representative who spoke in support of the bill, a non-magical named Stevens, snorted at her in derision. She took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes as she waited for the murmurs to die down.

Unexpectedly, they came to an abrupt stop. When she opened her eyes, she saw everyone looking at her – only they weren’t looking quite _at_ her, but behind her. 

She was terrified to look; a feeling, a scent crept up on her. It was impossible – but then she saw James Potter – standing up with wide eyes and making his way out of the spectators’ box. 

“Daphne,” she heard Harry’s voice softly behind her, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head; _impossible,_ she reminded herself. And then she felt his hand on her shoulder, and she let out a sob as she turned and fell into his arms.

“You’re really here,” she cried into Harry, gripping onto his arms, as if afraid if she let go, she would wake up and discover it was a dream. She pinched herself, letting out a brief “ow!” and earning a soft chuckle from Harry. She felt in some way she should be angry, as she considered all the tears she cried and the utter insanity of the past two weeks. But in that moment, she was simply so relieved to have him back, she couldn’t bring herself to be mad at him.

“I’m so sorry Daph, I’m sorry for everything,” he told her, and she nodded, shushing him and just _so_ happy he was _here._ She looked up, and in the corner of the speaker’s box stood Ginny, looking on at the display with a soft smile. Daphne tried to nod at her, to give her thanks, but broke into another round of sobs.

Soon, the silence gave way to murmuring, whispered confusion as Justice representatives began sweeping through the crowds. 

“Would you be upset if I took over this speech for you?” Harry asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Not at all,” she told him, letting go and laughing lightly as she saw his smile spread. He gave her a quick salute and turned to the podium. Daphne shuffled to the back of the box and gave Ginny a brief hug. “Thank you,” she told the officer and gripped her hand while Harry spoke.

“Excuse me everyone. Good afternoon.” Silence came over the room immediately. Harry smiled and began, “I’ll start by letting you all know: Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” This earned him a round of laughter from across the crowd.

“Two murder attempts were made on my life. The second one I barely escaped; my death was faked by the quick thinking of representatives from Justice and the Corps. Since then, I’ve watched from afar in horror as my name has been used to justify everything I’ve ever fought against. I’ve watched the magical and non-magical communities be manipulated by a cabal of men, fighting for, of all things, foreign interests.

“The one person who has had my back this whole time – the person who I’ve always trusted _most_ when it comes to politics – was dragged through the mud. Because she made a _friend_ and dared to _laugh_ when _you_ thought she should be in mourning. I wondered when the news came out – would this have happened if she was a man? But do you know what?” He paused for a moment, shaking his head. “None of that matters!”

“Because _everyone_ who knows me knows Daphne Greengrass _will always represent me_. I say it now, so no one will ever make that mistake again. But I’m not here to berate you all; especially since I know many of you have been supportive of my ideals, helping to preserve cooperation between the magicals and non-magicals and ensure the continuation of the WEA.

“I’m here to explain why this bill is utter and complete crap. First, I’m very sorry to tell you all, but this bill is the culmination of a larger conspiracy. You see, the attempts on my life _weren’t_ the brainchild of some random non-magical terrorists in France. They were the workings of a small group of magicals. They have been manipulating events over the past month, first with my supposed death, then by convincing the public my death meant our _entire_ Alliance was a failure – even suggesting the Alliance was the _cause_ of our birth rate problem!

“Then of course, when they couldn’t get their own into office, they tried to persuade Representative Greengrass to vote for this travesty of a bill by blackmailing her. And when she refused to give into them, they tried to discredit her. And why did they do this? Well, it turns out they were in league with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. So not only were they trying to manipulate _you_ and the citizens of the Alliance, they were doing it to aid and abet a foreign government. They did this to _enable_ Voldemort to get a foothold in Western Europe, to pave the way to tear apart the WEA once and for all.

“While I’ve been speaking, you’ve probably noticed a few of your friends being picked up by representatives of Justice for questioning. We’re in the process right now of rounding up those responsible for this conspiracy – though I’m sure we’ll be cleaning up the pieces of this mess for a long time.” 

Harry cracked his neck, turning around to give Daphne an apologetic smile before he continued speaking. “What I can tell you is it appears there were three ringleaders. They are Elijah Parkinson, Malcolm Flint, and Anton Greengrass.” The whispers started again and Harry paused, waiting until the crowd had calmed down. “I believe and have _always_ believed in the WEA. I would _happily_ give my life for it, though I would much rather not.

“I’m hoping what I’ve said thus far encourages you _all_ to vote against this bill. But if it’s not enough, just think about how much we’ve all accomplished together. Think about what the world is like _now_ relative to what it was five years ago! Think about where we will be in five years. And that brings me to the last thing I would like to say to you all.

“Even though I’m still alive, I will not be resuming my position in Parliament. I’m asking Daphne Greengrass to retain my seat until the next election.” Harry put up his hand to shush the crowd before continuing. “This is because in my time away, I uncovered what I believe is a viable solution to our birth rate issue. I can’t discuss the details, and I make no guarantees, but that’s where I’ll be – trying to make sure our species _has_ a future. Representative Greengrass has always been my brain in these four walls, and you are in good hands with her.

“So, with that said, please vote no on the Harry Potter Remembrance Act – and seriously, who the hell came up with that name?” He grinned and the crowd broke into emotional applause, many members whistling in approval and some with tears of their own. The media in the back was in a frenzy, the speculation rampant. Harry waved and stepped to the back, a wide grin spread on his face.

“Was it everything you imagined?” Ginny teased.

“Oh, it was better.” He laughed, opening the door and running straight into his father.

“Harry!” James hugged him, and Harry only paused for a moment before returning the gesture. “I’m so sorry, son.”

“Hey, I’m here,” Harry assured him. 

His dad stepped back, tears streaming freely down his face. “I just,” James started, fumbling for his words, “there’s so much I want to say.”

“I love you too dad,” Harry told him, a smile plastered on his face as he hugged him again, feeling closer to the man than he had in years. He heard Ginny holding back the press from the hallway and reluctantly released his father, walking with confidence towards the vultures.

“Mr. Potter, can you tell us–“ one started.

“Mr. Potter, what did you think of Daphne and Ron We–“ 

Harry put his hands in the air, and the voices slowly quieted down, though the camera flashes continued.

“I will make a brief statement. My death was faked in order for the authorities to get to the bottom of a conspiracy to undermine our Alliance. I have nothing to say about the frankly ridiculous news stories you all concocted about Daphne. She is and will always be my best friend, though for the record, we are no longer together, a fact entirely _unrelated_ to your gossip. I consider Ron Weasley a friend, and I’m eternally grateful that while I was presumed dead, Daphne was able to find someone to confide in, given her own _family_ blackmailed her.” 

He rolled his eyes as more questions were shouted, which he ignored. “As I said before Parliament, I am forfeiting my seat to pursue a different goal. I have complete confidence in Daphne’s ability to represent the interests of the magical community in England. That is all.” Harry smiled, feeling more free than he had in a long time.

* * *

“Where were you?” Daphne asked once the four of them had finally reached James Potter’s townhouse, successfully evading both the circling media and politicians. She was seated next to Harry, holding his arm like she was afraid if she let go, he would disappear.

“We spent a few days with one of Ginny’s friends, then we actually stayed with Sirius Black,” he told her, though his gaze shifted to his father.

“Sirius?” James asked, wide eyed. “How did that happen?”

Harry shrugged. “Robards called in a favor, I guess.” He cocked his head towards his father before he continued, “You know, I remember how close you two used to be – you should try to mend fences. After all that’s happened, you just don’t know how much time is left.”

James frowned, shaking his head. “It’s been too long. Our disagreement – I don’t see us overcoming that.”

“Seventeen years.” Harry nodded. “I know what happened. I don’t think it’s too late.”

“He told you?” James asked, swallowing.

“He told _her_ ,” Harry explained, elaborating at James’ confused look, “Hermione.”

James’ eyes widened further. “It sounds like you had quite the adventure.”

Harry nodded and chuckled. “We did. And one day, when it’s all over, I’ll tell you everything.”

“I feel as though we just got you back, and you’re already saying goodbye.” Daphne frowned.

Harry nodded, squeezing her hand and offering a slight smile. “I can’t tell you what I’m doing now, it’s too dangerous. But it’s important. And hopefully it won’t take too long.”

“Can you tell us where you’re going?” James asked, frowning.

Harry shrugged. “I’m not quite sure.”

“So what happened then – with the investigation, I mean? How did you all catch my father?” Daphne asked quietly, the blood slowly draining from her face.

Harry squeezed her hand. “When you were blackmailed, they were able to connect the blackmailers to the Death Eaters and the French fundamentalists.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “You’ll need to elaborate.”

“Robards and Fox placed a surveillance bug in your house; so after you were blackmailed, they were able to identify who left the package, and from there managed to trace down your father, Parkinson, and Flint.”

“But what about the Death Eaters?” his father asked.

“They found out the person who paid the terrorists didn’t exist; it was just an alias used to publish the _Pureblood Manifesto_. They interviewed your father last night, and he confessed that they were colluding with the Death Eaters, claiming they believed it was the only way to solve the birth rate issue. The idea was, if they could sow unrest and split the country in two, the country would be ‘ready,’ so to speak, for Voldemort.” Harry exhaled, looking nervously at Daphne. “I’m sorry.”

Daphne shook her head, a pensive expression marking her face. “I think I’d known, I just didn’t want to believe it. It makes sense, what with him sending Astoria away and all, I just…” she trailed off.

Harry squeezed her hand one more time before he turned to Ginny, who was watching from afar, giving him his space. “Are you ready?” he asked her.

Ginny nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Daphne, before I leave, I have a favor to ask you…”

* * *

_Cambridge_

Draco and Hermione, disguised as young backpackers, worked their way to the Cambridge Apparition zone. Sirius had managed to stay sober long enough to glamour himself to look, from a distance, like Draco, and was currently leading the Corps on a wild goose chase. That being said, there were still a few officers checking papers at the entrance to the Apparition zone.

Hermione smiled as the officer requested her documents. She handed him the blank paper as Draco performed a quick _Impedimenta_. She started counting, knowing they had limited time before Draco’s offensive spell would be detected. Soon they were through the Corps checkpoint, walking much more quickly towards the field. 

“60 seconds,” she said to Draco.

They were still about fifty meters from the zone, so they ran, ignoring the sound of boots behind them. Only a few moments later they heard the tell-tale signs of gunfire. 

They managed to cross the threshold of the zone, and Hermione held Draco’s hand and slammed her eyes shut, feeling a distinct pull in her stomach as he apparated them to Scotland.

* * *

_Hogwarts/Hogsmeade_

Hermione opened her eyes to find herself in a rather plain living room with a couch, some chairs, and a few bookshelves but no television or personal effects. She frowned at Draco, her mouth drifting open.

“My home,” he told her, “I know this place better than anywhere else – figured it would be safe. Come on, we should go to Hogwarts, the Dark Lord will have felt my return. He’ll be expecting me there.” He paused, performing a quick spell to change from his jeans and long sleeve v-neck into traditional wizarding robes, before offering Hermione his hand and escorting her out the door. 

“Ordinarily, I like to fly places.” He motioned to the broomstick next to the threshold. “But it’s probably best if we walk.”

They left and strode along the Hogsmeade main thoroughfare. It wasn’t terribly unlike the main streets they’d come across in their recent travels – about two out of every three store fronts appeared dilapidated or otherwise tired from disuse. She was intrigued by the few shops that remained; she noticed the chocolate shop Draco had alluded to, where a few children were loitering. She smiled unconsciously, continuing to take stock of her surroundings.

There was a clothing shop, as well as what looked like a small grocery and an apothecary. As they continued, Hermione noticed that other than the children earlier, it was eerily quiet. She was reminded of just how few Death Eaters there were, and her mind considered once more just how different life must be here.

“Do you all have currency?” she asked Draco, having never taken the time to consider how the Death Eaters’ economy functioned, if one even truly existed. 

He shrugged. “Technically, for certain things people will still use gold, but typically people barter. Other things, like food, are rationed.” 

Her eyes lit up; she was intrigued by this accidental social experiment. How _did_ this small, homogenous group maintain a self-sufficient society? She knew they weren’t _completely_ isolated from the outside world. But there was no way they had regular access to resources outside of their enclave, meaning that they had developed a means to ensure food production year-round as well as any other necessities. 

Of course, they were greatly aided by magic, but still, she wondered who was responsible for managing this society – was it Voldemort himself? He didn’t seem the type to be interested in such routine ventures, but she didn’t want to necessarily assume anything. As they walked past the main street and began climbing, she saw the castle come into view in the distance. 

“Draco, do you all have a town manager? How have you all been able to maintain a self-contained society for the past fifteen years?”

He smiled at her, his eyes soft, as he answered, “The first few years weren’t great. There was a lot of in-fighting, and a number of people left. My father is actually our manager, as you call it. Though, I think he likes to consider himself something of a mayor.”

Hermione’s mind buzzed. “It’s fascinating. The WEA’s supply system is so intricate – factories and farms in all different regions and trade routes throughout. Do things ever feel... monotonous? I can’t imagine you have substantial ecological diversity; do you get bored with the same food?” Her eyes were alight in curiosity as she rambled, not even noticing as they approached the Hogwarts front gates. She stopped abruptly, wide-eyed as she took in the sight before her.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his hand cupping her cheek.

“No, but let’s do this anyway.” 

He kissed her softly, letting it linger, as though he were holding onto the memory. “Don’t forget,” he reminded her as they walked up to the Hogwarts front door. “From here on out, you have to trust me. Not my actions or what I say.”

“I’ll try,” she told him, a familiar refrain.

When they reached the entrance, Draco pressed his wand against the doors, triggering them to open into a great space. A man _,_ if you could call him that, floated over to greet them.

“Draco, you have returned. With a guest.” The man sneered, his lips turning as though to smile. 

Hermione did her best not to look repulsed. She noticed out of the corner of her eye Draco bowing in deference and she bowed slightly herself, hoping not to offend the man.

“My Lord,” Draco started, maintaining his dramatic bow.

“Rise,” the man said, his voice sharp.

“My lord, may I present to you, Hermione Granger.” Draco gestured towards her. She noticed Draco’s eyes never met the man’s and attempted to emulate the action.

“It is an honor to meet you, sir,” Hermione said uncomfortably.

“I’ve been waiting for you. The pleasure is mine,” Voldemort insisted, his tone victorious.

* * *

_Chamonix, France_

The portkey deposited Harry and Ginny on a patio. They turned, taking in the snow-covered mountain range and the chateau that stood behind them. Windows covered the wall, and a warm well-furnished room sat just beyond. The pair gave each other a look, a silent confirmation before opening the sliding door.

The room, upon further inspection, held an assortment of artifacts, mostly magical in nature. An old hat sat in the center of a coffee table, appearing to watch them curiously. Various tchotchkes littered multiple shelves, some of them spinning and others remaining stock still. A broomstick appeared to be gathering dust in the corner. They looked around for a moment, curious, before the sound of footsteps drew their attention.

An old man walked in, his dark blue robes billowing behind him. He frowned as he took them in, his wand seamlessly floating to his hand. Ginny stepped in front of Harry, grabbing her wand, before Harry lightly pressed on her shoulder, urging her to stand down.

The man watched the interaction and softened. “You are not who I expected,” he told them.

Harry nodded. “Hermione couldn’t make it. But we need your help. You’re Albus Dumbledore right?”

The man blinked before nodding. “Yes. And I’m guessing you are a Potter and you—” Dumbledore looked at Ginny thoughtfully. “Must be a Weasley.”

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry confirmed. “And this is Ginny Weasley.”

“I must admit, I’m – surprised by this turn of events.” Dumbledore looked at the pair curiously before gesturing for them to sit down. “Would you mind explaining how you came to be here?”

“We—” Harry paused, considering what to tell the man. “We believe that Voldemort may be inadvertently responsible for the collapse of the birth rate globally.” Harry watched the man’s face, hoping to glean something of his intentions. “It seems Voldemort has created Horcruxes in order to become immortal.” And that’s when Harry noticed it, an almost imperceptible knowing glint in the old man’s eyes. 

Harry unceremoniously pulled the locket from his bag and threw it onto the coffee table. Dumbledore gave the briefest hint of surprise before returning his face to its mask of indifference. 

“Sirius Black suggested that you could help us find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes. So, Hermione gave us the portkey, and Ginny and I came here.”

“And where, might I ask, is Ms. Granger?” Dumbledore asked, narrowing his eyes.

“On her way to Hogwarts,” Harry answered truthfully.

“That is very dangerous.” Dumbledore frowned.

Harry nodded. “Someone needed to investigate exactly _how_ Voldemort and his Horcruxes were influencing the global birth rate. We needed someone on the inside – and Voldemort asked for her.”

Dumbledore looked wary. “Why should I help you?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Why were you going to help Hermione?”

“She is the subject of prophecy,” Dumbledore answered, as though that were all the explanation needed.

Harry exhaled sharply and rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard the prophecy, and I have to say, it’s quite vague. And I’m _fairly_ certain there is no part of it that involves working with you in the middle of nowhere. If you’re not going to help us, we’ll go. But it seems like you’ve waited all this time to make your move. Is this really how you want to play it?” Harry smiled tightly.

Dumbledore nodded, brushing his thumb and forefinger against his chin. “Alright, I will help you.” 

Harry visibly relaxed. “Thank you.” He looked around again, frowning. “Where are we exactly?”

“Forgive my manners, we are in my chateau in Chamonix. Welcome to France.”

_End Part 2_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That brings us to the end of Part 2, and with it, we’ve reached the end of Daphne’s storyline in Finding Kallipolis. She will have a few cameos in Part 3 but we will no longer be following her.
> 
>  **For those of you who’ve enjoyed Daphne and the politics of the WEA** … There will be a Daphne centric sequel to Finding Kallipolis. This will be a 13 chapter political drama following Daphne’s election campaign, and will delve deeper into the politics we scratched the surface of in this fic. 
> 
> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.  
> I appreciate any and all comment/reviews/emotions/GIFs!
> 
> Sunday will bring us to **Part 3: Alliance.** Our third and final segment of Finding Kallipolis...


	31. Chapter 31

##  **Part 3: Alliance**

_ “nothing beautiful…without struggle.” – Plato, the Republic _

* * *

_ Hogsmeade/Hogwarts _   
_ November 12, 2006 _

Hermione shifted nervously, her hand unconsciously touching the silk of her new robes, feeling uncomfortable in the baggy cover up. 

“You look lovely,” Millicent told her with a warm smile as Hermione stepped off of the small pedestal.

“It feels strange, like I’m wearing a bathrobe or something.” Hermione tried walking back and forth but found herself constantly tripping.

“Here,” Millicent interjected, and with a quick wave of her wand the robes were a few inches shorter, allowing Hermione to walk normally.

“Oh, that’s much better!” Hermione smiled. She had found in her brief time in Hogsmeade, she was quite impressed by the casual use of magic. She would never have dreamt of using a spell rather than needle and thread to hem a dress, but here it was instinctual. She made a mental note to ask Ginny if this was a witch thing or perhaps the result of living in a purely magical society. Having known she was a witch for only a few weeks, she was not quite in a position to judge.

After Draco and Hermione arrived in Hogsmeade the day before, Voldemort had ‘kindly’ given her the day to get her bearings and to procure some proper clothes. Draco had arranged for her to stay with his friend Millicent Bulstrode, since apparently it would have been improper for her to stay at Draco’s, what with his pending nuptials.

Millicent had been something of a surprise to Hermione – not nearly as haughty as Draco when they first met and with the patience of a saint. She had offered to take Hermione shopping so here they were, finding her clothes that were deemed appropriate. Because tonight Hermione would be dining with the  _ Dark Lord _ .

“How do you all exercise in robes?” Hermione asked, trying in vain to do a few squats.

Millicent looked at her oddly and shrugged. “We don’t really? Some play Quidditch, I guess.”

Hermione nodded; this reminder of just how little she knew about the inner workings of the Death Eaters left her anxious. While she understood ahead of time that going to Hogwarts would be a bit of a gambit, she still felt out of her element, even more so than when she had been on the run. At least then, she felt like she had a modicum of control and a basic understanding of social etiquette. But  _ this _ felt like a foreign country. 

And the most ridiculous aspect of her short time in Hogsmeade was how much she found herself missing Draco. They had been apart less than 18 hours, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the man. She wasn’t sure if she was more concerned that she had turned into a love sick teenager, or that perhaps the events of the last month had made them uncomfortably co-dependent.

They walked out of the store, giving the shopkeeper a quick nod on the way out. Hermione had been told that Voldemort would take care of any expenses required which was – creepy. 

“Do you need anything else?” Millicent asked.

Hermione shrugged. “Do I?” 

She still didn’t know exactly how she was going to go about completing their task. She had made a laundry list of what she wanted to do. She wanted – needed – to explore Hogwarts, find the nexus, and hopefully find some way to communicate with the Hogwarts magic itself. 

She was also hoping to use this time and the lack of regulation to practice her witchcraft. And of course, she was hoping to spend time in the Hogwarts library. She understood from Draco and Sirius that it put the Black library to shame, so she could only imagine the tomes waiting for her there.

Millicent gave Hermione a soft smile and led her back to her home, located only a few doors down from Draco’s. They lived in a small neighborhood full of nearly identical houses, which Hermione believed were built, or perhaps transfigured, specifically for this generation when they came of age. There was a certain level of equity to Death Eater society – well, in that everyone was equal except for the Dark Lord.

Hermione shook herself, trying to get used to referring to Voldemort as the Dark Lord, both out loud as well as in her head. Since, as Draco mentioned, the man happened to be an accomplished Legilimens and could read her mind, though Draco assured her that it required prolonged eye contact. 

“Millie!” A shout brought Hermione back to the present as two men approached them.

“Greg.” Millicent turned to introduce them. “Hermione, this is Greg Goyle and Theo Nott.” Hermione’s eyes lit up in recognition; of particular interest was Theo, who featured prominently in Draco’s stories, though she was taking everything Draco had previously told her about Hogsmeade with a grain of salt. Greg gave her an odd sort of nod, looking distinctly uncomfortable. 

Theo gave her a boisterous smile and put out his hand in greeting. “It’s lovely to meet you. Draco told me  _ all _ about you,” he said it in such a salacious way, Hermione found herself inadvertently turning red.

“You too.” She shook his hand and took a few calming breaths, hoping to clear the blush from her neck. “It’s lovely to finally meet Draco’s friends.” 

Greg awkwardly ran off to the apothecary, but Theo chose to escort them to Millie’s house. Hermione found the whole ordeal felt odd and somewhat contrived. 

“So, how are you liking it in Hogsmeade?” Theo asked. He was nothing like she imagined but at the same time completely like how Draco described. He was tall and lanky; his face was plain until he smiled or laughed, showing off dimples and a certain level of mischievousness in his eyes. He wore thick glasses and had incredibly luscious brown hair which she noticed he enjoyed whipping back. She imagined he was quite the heartbreaker – or would be in a world where there were options.

“It’s interesting,” Hermione responded honestly. “It’s fascinating to see how you all use magic for everything so seamlessly.”

Theo smiled, shaking his head. “It’s great here. I can’t imagine living outside of this place. Draco told me how heavily regulated magic is out there.” He shivered,  _ literally _ shivered at the thought, and Hermione had to blink to avoid rolling her eyes.

“Well, to be honest I don’t really know the difference. I only just learned I was a witch recently and, given Draco and I were on the run from the organization I worked for, I didn’t even have the luxury of using magic like typical witches and wizards,” Hermione explained. 

She and Draco had worked out a version of their story that was close enough to the truth that it would hopefully hold up under scrutiny. As far as the Death Eaters were concerned, Hermione felt betrayed by the Corps for their dishonesty about her magic and memories, and was thus willing to go with Draco to Hogwarts. They had left out the fact that Hermione remembered that the Death Eaters had tortured her parents as well as Hermione's own role in the  _ Event _ . They assumed, however, based on Voldemort’s interpretation of the prophecy, that he was aware of both.

One of the advantages of this story was it allowed Hermione to be curious and uncertain – they knew it was unrealistic for her to claim she had suddenly turned against the WEA and everything it entailed. This way, Voldemort – the _Dark Lord_ she reminded herself – would hopefully feel somewhat obligated to indulge her questions. They were counting on the bit of the prophecy that referred to the ‘power to choose,’ and hoped that the Dark Lord was planning to woo Hermione to his side.

“It must have been strange, growing up and living with Muggles,” Theo remarked with a slightly disgusted look on his face that he made little effort to hide. 

Hermione shrugged. “I didn’t really know the difference,” she explained neutrally. “Did I say or do something to offend Greg?” She frowned, turning to Millicent.

Millicent was about to speak but snapped her mouth shut, turning to Theo as he laughed. “He’s not really comfortable around you because you’re a Mudblood.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, unable to stop herself. That was another thing she was going to have to get used to – blatant prejudice. She learned the word from Voldemort himself yesterday, who chuckled as he assured her that they made an exception to their typical ‘kill first, ask questions later’ philosophy in regards to Mudbloods for her. 

That was in itself quite alarming, but then Voldemo– the  _ Dark Lord _ – clarified that he didn’t genuinely believe that Hermione was one. Rather, he suspected some sort of foul play or mix up at birth. Hermione felt, based on her understanding of genetics and science, that the Dark Lord was being delusional, but she simply smiled and said she would love to hear more of his theories.

As they approached Millie’s house, Hermione caught sight of Draco pacing outside the front door. He had somehow magically re-grown his hair, and this, along with his pitch-black robes, brought back to mind the memory of finding him in the woods. But this time as she approached, his face softened and he gave her the faintest of smiles. 

“Granger,” he greeted her. It was a sort of code they had designed, whereby amongst the Death Eaters they would refer to one another by their surnames. It was Draco’s idea - a way to remind her that while Malfoy may act one way, it wasn’t  _ real _ . 

“Malfoy,” she responded, keeping her tone neutral. She felt her heart race irrationally and reminded herself she had seen him just the day before. 

“Nice robes.” He smirked, knowing  _ just _ how she felt about wizarding fashions, both their appearance and impracticality.

“Thank you,” she answered, narrowing her eyes.

His eyes twinkled in amusement. “I thought you might enjoy a tour of the castle before dinner.”

Her previous annoyance faded. “Yes, of course,” she told him, saying goodbye to Millicent and a ‘lovely to meet you’ to Theo.

“How are you doing?” Draco asked, further softening, his hand discreetly brushing against her back. She exhaled, feeling comforted by his touch. 

“Alright. Millicent truly is lovely. I really appreciate you convincing her to let me stay with her. We - uh - ran into Greg and Theo,” she explained.

“Did Greg say something to you?” He frowned.

“No. He just kind of nodded at me and left.” She shrugged. “Theo informed me it’s because I’m a ‘Mudblood’.” 

He winced at her use of the word. It was a point of debate the night before. Once the Dark Lord had called her a Mudblood, she had begun using it as a self-descriptor, finding the concept of magicals born of non-magicals having mud in their veins utterly absurd. Draco chastised her, informing her it was derogatory and she shouldn’t use the word.

* * *

_ “So, you’ve never said ‘Mudblood’ before?” Hermione had asked. _

_ “Of course! But I wasn’t talking about you!” he explained. _

_ “Who were you talking about then?” she asked. _

_ “I was talking about theoretical witches and wizards born of a non-magical lineage.”  _

_ “Yes. And I would qualify as such,” she pointed out. _

_ “But you’re missing the point!” he bit back. _

_ “Am I?” _

_ “Yes! It has a negative connotation,” he explained. _

_ She had smiled. “And now you don’t feel that way?” _

_ Draco mumbled, “Yes.” _

_ She smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “Of course you don’t. It’s a silly word – I don’t plan to use it excessively but I won’t be afraid of it.” _

* * *

“What’d you think of Theo?” Draco asked.

“Somehow, he’s both nothing like I expected but also exactly how you described,” she explained with a hint of a smile.

He stopped, grabbing her arm just as they were approaching the castle. “Be careful around him.”

“What?”

“I went to see him this morning. Apparently he’s been receiving quite a bit of attention from the Dark Lord,” Draco explained.

Hermione frowned. “Is that – unusual?” 

His gaze shifted to the ground. “He was bragging. Before I left Hogwarts, I was more or less considered the leader of our generation’s Death Eaters.”

She found the revelation fascinating, and given what she knew of Draco’s intelligence, she wasn’t entirely surprised. “Is that why you were sent to retrieve me?”

He nodded. “Yes, or so I assume. Anyway, it seems in my absence, Theo’s taken my place. Just – he seems different.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” she asked quietly, watching him carefully.

“What do you mean?” he questioned, shifting uncomfortably.

She felt confident he knew. “Just,  _ you’re  _ quite different from the man I found passed out in my woods over a month ago. Perhaps it’s not so much your friend who has changed, but  _ you who  _ are different.”

He looked ready to rebuke her point, but the front doors to Hogwarts opened abruptly and a man gracefully walked out. Based on his long blonde locks, pale complexion, and overall haughty demeanor, Hermione assumed this to be Lucius Malfoy.

“Father,” Draco started, “may I introduce Hermione Granger.” That was yet another oddity of this place – everything was proper. Other than Draco’s peers, every time she met someone it was a proper introduction. She wondered if perhaps Voldemort – the  _ Dark Lord _ – had read a Jane Austen novel and used it for developing the etiquette for his society. 

Though she had to admit, from her limited research into the subject, it seemed more likely this was commonplace amongst magicals from before the  _ Event.  _ She was simply unfamiliar with it, since the magicals she encountered in the WEA had long assimilated to living with non-magicals.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” he stated, his face perfectly neutral as he reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. She considered it an incredible feat of strength that she was able to keep a straight face throughout the whole ordeal.

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well.” Hermione smiled. 

“Father, I have promised Ms. Granger a tour of the castle prior to dinner. I trust I will see you there?” 

“Of course. Do enjoy yourselves,” he said with a glint of something that implied ‘ _ but not too much. _ ’ Hermione wondered what, if anything, Lucius suspected.

Draco and Hermione walked inside the Great Hall; she was quite relieved the Dark Lord was not waiting for them this time. She took in the space, imagining it filled with students but not quite able to envision it. As it was, the room had a few round tables and a large space that looked like a dance floor. Chandeliers sprinkled the top of the ceiling in an overly elaborate manner.

Hermione frowned. “I thought the ceiling was bewitched?” she asked, recalling the information from  _ Hogwarts, a History, _ which she had liberated from the Black library.

Draco grimaced. “It hasn’t been bewitched for ten years.” 

She nodded and catalogued the discrepancy. As a whole, she found the castle to be eerily  _ quiet _ . A few staircases creaked as they moved – she remembered Draco said the staircases used to move but had stopped – and a few portraits made comments as they passed, though for the most part the frames were empty or their inhabitants perfectly still. The echo of Draco and Hermione’s footsteps surrounded them, a permanent ‘boom boom boom’ that gave an entirely unnatural feel to the castle.

“These are the dungeons, where the Slytherin students lived.” Draco opened a massive door and showed her around what appeared to be a large and long unused living room. She coughed from the layers of dust and lack of proper ventilation. 

“This is my favorite thing.” He showed her the glass wall that connected to the Black Lake. Only a few fish were visible; Draco had noted no marine life had been seen in at least a dozen years. Hermione considered what kind of spell work had been required to create the glass wall, given that the volume of water in the lake meant the thin glass was likely violating the laws of physics.

“So, kids  _ really _ got sorted into houses? And that’s who they had all of their classes with?” Hermione asked as they left the dungeons and continued.

Draco shrugged. “I guess. My dad and some of the older generation will talk about it from time to time – nearly all of them were in Slytherin. Obviously, there weren’t enough kids around my age to even  _ justify _ splitting us up,” he explained. “How does school work in the WEA?”

Hermione considered how best to describe it. “There are a variety of school options – there are magic schools, non-magic schools, and some hybrid schools, which have been recently gaining in popularity. But for the most part, you have classes with all sorts of students regardless of ‘personal attributes.’

“I’ve heard of some of the more elite schools dividing kids up like the Hogwarts houses, but I can’t personally imagine what that would be like. Though, I suppose it would allow for instant friendships to form....” she trailed off, considering how lonely she had been through her secondary school years, and thought twice on judging the ritual.

“I’m sure you would have been in Ravenclaw had you been a student here,” he told her with a smirk.

“Is that the studious one?”

“Yes, all a bunch of nerds,” he teased.

“I would have fit right in,” she said almost longingly. “Where would you have been?”

“Slytherin of course.”

“Really?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. Cunning, Pure-blood, where else could I have gone?” Draco argued.

“Oh, I was just thinking about how brave you were leaving everything you knew to come find me,” she said playfully.

“Ha ha. Funny,” he drawled.

“What would we have been like?” she asked, smiling as they continued their tour. “We would have been in school around the same time I imagine.”

Draco grinned at her indulgently. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Oh–” she nodded, giving him a slight smile. “I bet we would have been great friends.” She beamed at him, biting her lip slightly and just  _ wishing _ she could grab his elbow or touch him in some way.

He must have been feeling the same; his eyes darted left to right, and he led her into what appeared to be a long disused classroom. He wordlessly locked the door and closed the space between them, pushing her into a large desk.

He leaned down and kissed her, long and slow, like it had been a long time. It sparked something in her, the feel of his lips pushing into hers, his torso flush against her own. She clung to his robes, lightly biting his lower lip and pressing her tongue against his. Draco sighed, his hands lingering over her arse and attempting to draw lines up her sides before he grunted in frustration. 

“These things are awful,” he whispered to her, yanking at her robe.

She laughed and met his forehead with her own. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this here.”

He sighed. “I know, but for some reason the fact that it’s forbidden makes me want it all the more.”

She straightened herself out, ignoring the flush in her cheeks and the distinct feeling of  _ not _ being satisfied. He did the same and opened the door for her. “So that was where they taught Charms,” he said, louder than necessary, looking around surreptitiously.

“Fascinating.” She smiled innocently.

“Indeed.”

* * *

The other guests were already present when Draco and Hermione arrived for dinner, standing and chatting in a way that she could only describe as awkwardly amiable. Volde – the  _ Dark Lord _ – had the honor of introducing Astoria to Hermione and Draco, making the point that Astoria, like Hermione, had grown up in that horrid world outside of the Death Eaters’ piece of land and perhaps could become fast friends.

Adding to the general awkwardness of the meal was the fact that this was Draco and Astoria’s first time meeting. Hermione found the entire situation somewhat unbearable, in part because she didn’t think much of arranged marriages, but mostly because she still found her gaze lingering on Draco's lips and dwelling on his confession to her their last night in Cambridge.

Dinner was an – interesting affair. The table had been set for five – an uncomfortably intimate gathering which the Dark Lord assured her was for ‘her comfort.’ The man himself sat at the head. Lucius Malfoy sat to his right and Hermione, much to her discomfort, was seated to his left. Astoria Greengrass, Draco’s betrothed, sat to her left with Draco seated across. 

Hermione, having spent a reasonable amount of time with Harry Potter watching the news crucify Daphne Greengrass, found the resemblance between the two girls striking. Like Daphne, Astoria had blonde hair, though hers stopped at her shoulders. She held herself with a sort of easy confidence that Daphne seemed to have as well. Though from the little that Harry had mentioned of Astoria, she seemed to romanticize this way of life, whereas Daphne was quite progressive and vocally supportive of cooperation with non-magicals.

Hermione realized, as she tried to follow the Dark Lord and Lucius’ conversation, that this must have been how Draco felt when they were all in Cambridge and she and Ginny discussed Corps gossip. She could understand the words they were saying, but the people and places involved meant nothing to her. She finally gave up and watched Astoria and Draco’s interactions with a sort of detached interest.

“Draco, I understand that you were just in the WEA,” Astoria brought up.

“Yes.” Draco’s voice was clear and held the arrogance Hermione had associated with his ‘Malfoy’ persona. “It was quite the experience. It seems that witches and wizards there have it quite difficult.”

Hermione watched Astoria blink, before swallowing her soup and responding. “Of course. It is very different there. It’s quite liberating to be able to use magic at leisure here.” It was a good response, Hermione thought, honest but at the same time one that would appease the typical Death Eater.

“It is. You should try riding a broom if you ever get a chance to. It’s quite exhilarating,” Draco suggested – or, perhaps offered?

“Oh, certainly.” Astoria gave him a demure smile.

“Ms. Granger.” Hermione whipped her head to the right in response to the Dark Lord. “How are you finding our little slice of paradise?” he sneered in a way that she supposed was his attempt at a smile.

“Oh, it’s quite fascinating, sir,” she said, not quite comfortable yet calling him ‘my lord.’ “I’m quite impressed with what you’ve been able to create here with such a limited number of witches and wizards. The ability to ensure a stable food supply is quite a feat – let alone the  _ diversity _ of ecology I’ve noticed.” The Dark Lord looked pleased, and Hermione noticed that Lucius’s lip quirked.

The Dark Lord responded, “I’m glad to hear you are enjoying yourself, my dear.” 

Hermione inwardly cringed at the affectation. She had not actually indicated she was enjoying herself, only mentioned that the place was _fascinating_ , but she chose not to correct the mad wizard. 

“Tell me, how does Hogwarts compare to your… former home?”

“Oh, it’s so difficult to compare,” she started, prepared for this question. “See, since I learned I’m a witch, I’ve been on the run. Although, from my limited experience as a witch, I have to say, it’s quite nice to have the freedom to use magic at will here,” she explained with a sweet smile.

The Dark Lord blinked. “Yes, Draco explained how you were lied to and your magic withheld. I’m not surprised. Muggles are horrible, foul creatures. They don’t understand magic or our ways,” he said in a way that could probably be described as  _ kind _ , relative to his other tones at least. It appeared that the Dark Lord had assumed it was the non-magicals who removed Hermione’s powers, but she figured it was probably better to keep him ignorant of the truth.

“It was quite traumatic to find out as I did. I’ve often wondered what my life would have been like had I known I was magical,” she told him sadly.

He gave her a pitying nod. Suddenly, their plates disappeared and were replaced by some sort of beef dish. “Do you know why you are here?” the Dark Lord asked, a small bit of the juice from his rare steak dripping down his lower lip in a completely horrific manner.

“Not quite,” she lied. “Draco told me that you learned what was done to me and he had been sent to come help me.”

The Dark Lord nodded. “Yes.”  _ Liar _ , she thought. “There’s a bit more to it than that. I believe you, singularly, have the ability to help restore magical might to what it once was.”

“Me?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide. She wondered if it would be appropriate for her to faint.

“Yes. I agree, I too was surprised.” The Dark Lord looked at her with a sort of menacing snarl, but, like all of his facial expressions, she couldn’t be  _ quite _ sure of its intent.

She waited, expecting him to follow up, but he didn’t. 

“What is expected of me?” she asked.

“It isn’t quite clear yet, my dear. But in the meantime, I think it would be valuable for you to learn what you can. It was quite tragic that you were cheated out of a proper magical education. Of course, so many outside of our little niche are, including the lovely Astoria here.” He looked fondly at the blonde woman, though his ‘looking fondly’ could only be described as, again, creepy. 

“I would very much enjoy the opportunity to learn here.” Hermione did her best to beam.

The Dark Lord smiled. “It’s lovely to see that sort of love of learning. I feel your generation is always looking for shortcuts.” He clicked his tongue.

“Yes, it’s quite reprehensible,” Hermione replied.

“Well, then, it’s settled. One of our most capable instructors, Amycus Carrow, will be your tutor. You shall meet him here, in the Great Hall, each day at 9am,” he instructed her in an overly elaborate fashion. 

Hermione was suddenly nervous _ , _ vaguely recalling Draco describing what he learned. Would they attempt to brainwash her? But this also meant that she would have the opportunity to come to Hogwarts every day. 

The steak dish magically vanished and a small slice of treacle tart appeared in front of her. She practically sighed in relief; the evening was  _ almost over.  _

“So Astoria,” Hermione overheard Lucius ask the woman. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, our Lord has kindly allowed me to stay in what will be Draco’s and my home once we’re married,” Astoria answered, smiling brilliantly.

The Dark Lord interjected, “Of course. They will be married in a month, after all. This way, she’ll be able to make sure the furnishings are agreeable before Draco moves in.” 

Hermione froze, her fork an inch from her mouth. Completely ignoring the utter sexism inherent to the Dark Lord’s statement, there it was again: the stark reminder that Draco was getting married. In a month. She allowed her eyes to glance at him for just a moment and saw, to her dismay, he didn’t appear surprised at all. 

She took a deep breath and ate her treacle tart, ignoring the weight that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/emotions/GIFs!


	32. Chapter 32

_ Chamonix, France _   
_ November 13, 2006 _

“I could get used to this,” Ginny noted as she bit into her omelet, taking in the breathtaking view of the Alps. A permanent heating charm warmed them while the brisk air blew her hair back and forth.

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” Harry deadpanned. “But it would be nice if we could get on with what we came here for.”

“You know Harry, he’s quite old, maybe he’s not quite all there,” Ginny whispered to him. Harry didn’t buy it; Dumbledore seemed to play the doting old man only when it suited him. Harry was thus far unimpressed and would prefer he just tell them what he knew so they could find the Horcruxes and destroy them already!

Harry and Ginny had been exploring the chateau for the past two days. They had been assigned their own rooms on opposite ends of the house, with Dumbledore giving them a stern lecture about propriety. Harry was fairly certain the old man thought they were teenagers, but had been too dumbfounded to address it at the time. 

They had encountered a magical kitchen, looked around a small but seemingly endless library, and spent an extensive amount of time poking at the various baubles in the living room.

Otherwise, it seemed most of the chateau was off limits to the pair. They had gone on a walk, hoping to discern how far they were from neighbors or find some sort of civilization, but it appeared the ski village was long abandoned. Dumbledore himself was absent most of the past two days, claiming he needed to ‘prepare.’ Harry had mumbled to Ginny later that the old wizard had the past 25 years to prepare.

“Oh wonderful!” Harry whipped his head to see Dumbledore, his hands clasped together in joy and giving them a  _ very _ patronizing smile. “You have eaten! Are you ready to get started?” 

Harry gave Ginny a pointed look. 

“Yes,” Harry responded, “that would be excellent.”

“Very good.” Dumbledore gestured for them to follow, and he brought them to a hidden chamber that looked to be a mix of a classroom and a library with a small space Harry assumed was used for dueling. With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore conjured a table and two chairs, gesturing for Harry and Ginny to take a seat. Harry sat down, flashing back to secondary school and was momentarily worried he forgot to do his homework. 

“First things first,” Dumbledore began, “what do you all know of Lord Voldemort?”

“He’s mad,” Harry responded.

Dumbledore furrowed his brows, appearing thoughtful. “Perhaps. Anything else?”

“No,” Ginny confirmed, speaking slowly. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Yes, of course,” Dumbledore agreed. “I have dedicated substantial time and resources into learning what I could about Voldemort since he first rose to power in the 1970s – as I’m sure you both are aware, a person can only be defeated if they are  _ known _ . I believe we can only identify and locate the Horcruxes by evaluating Voldemort’s life.” He smiled indulgently at them.

“Sir?” Harry asked, “If you have been working to defeat him since the 70s, how come no one has seen or heard from you since 1981?” 

“An excellent question, Harry.” Dumbledore’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Once I learned of the prophecy, I realized there was nothing  _ I _ could do except to support the Chosen in their ventures.”

“Isn’t that a good way to invite a self-fulfilling prophecy?” Ginny asked, eyebrows drawn.

“Dear–” he looked down on her, his eyes peering at her above his glasses, which had fallen to the tip of his nose, “–when you have been around as long as I have, you grow to appreciate and respect a prophecy.”

Harry could do nothing but blink a few times. “Alright, so please, tell us about Voldemort.”

“Voldemort was born Tom Riddle.” He paused expectantly, waiting for some sort of reaction and was clearly disappointed by their blank stares. “What is noteworthy about Tom Riddle, is that he is a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin, through his mother. His father was, in fact, a Muggle.”

“Who is Salazar Slytherin?” Ginny asked, racking her mind.

“Oh dear.” Dumbledore frowned. “I’ve forgotten you children don’t learn about Hogwarts.” And so Harry and Ginny sat through what could only be described as a  _ lesson _ on Hogwarts, and the origins of Tom Riddle. Dumbledore’s teaching style was patronizing to say the least, but they had to admit, he truly was a wealth of knowledge on Voldemort.

“So,” Harry surmised. “Voldemort is obsessed with Hogwarts – right?”

Dumbledore frowned. “That seems like a far over simplified view but, yes, in essence that’s correct.”

“All I mean is, you describe it as the first place he felt at home, and he was willing to stop  _ killing _ if it meant he could claim Hogwarts for himself,” Harry pointed out.

“An astute observation.” Dumbledore smiled. “I would propose it is likely that Voldemort chose items related to Hogwarts to be Horcruxes.”

“Great – we’re getting somewhere.” Harry pulled out a notebook. “Alright – so what kinds of objects or items should we be looking for?”

Rather than answer directly, Dumbledore handed Ginny and Harry a copy of  _ Hogwarts, a History _ . 

Harry looked at him, dumbfounded. “You want us to read this book?”

Dumbledore nodded. “I gave you all a  _ primer _ on Tom Riddle and Hogwarts. But it’s not just about identifying objects; it’s about figuring out  _ where they would be _ . I would recommend you start with this book and then feel free to peruse the library here; there are many volumes on the houses and the Hogwarts founders.” The old man left, leaving Harry open mouthed and staring after him.

“Did he seriously just give us  _ homework? _ ” Harry asked.

Ginny laughed. “It appears so.”

“We’re supposed to be hunting and destroying Horcruxes.”

“Yes, and we came to a former Professor for help. What did you expect?” Ginny pointed out.

“Well, for him to be – less eccentric.”

* * *

“OK – I think I’ve identified an object from each house,” Ginny confirmed. They had decided to divide and conquer – Ginny would read through  _ Hogwarts, a History _ while Harry started skimming through the individual founders’ journals and biographies, of which there were  _ many _ . Some written in Old English, forcing Harry to brush up on his translation charms.

“Alright, go.”

“Gryffindor apparently commissioned the Goblins to make a magic sword,” Ginny started.

Harry immediately shut her down. “Yeah, it’s talked about  _ at length  _ in his journal. I don’t think that’s it; supposedly one of the properties of the sword is that it will appear to ‘a Gryffindor in their time of need,’ so unless that’s total rubbish, I don’t think Voldemort would risk a piece of his soul falling into the wrong hands.”

Ginny looked annoyed. “Alright. Well then, I have not been able to identify any other artifacts related to Gryffindor. Moving on to Hufflepuff – it looks like there was a  _ cup _ .”

“A cup?” Harry blinked. “Like the Holy Grail?”

“Well, it was only created at the time of Hogwarts’ founding so no, not the Holy Grail. It  _ is _ a magical cup of sorts, but how it’s magical is dubious,” Ginny explained. 

Harry nodded and wrote down  _ Hufflepuff – Cup, _ and Ginny continued, “Alright, one piece of good news is that the one Horcrux we  _ do _ have appears to be Slytherin’s locket. So presumably we have that taken care of.”

“Once we figure out how to destroy it,” Harry reminded her.

“Yes, Harry. Once that happens.” Ginny grabbed at her temples. “Alright, finally, Ravenclaw. It looks like she had some sort of crown or diadem.”

Harry wrote  _ Ravenclaw – Diadem _ . “Alright, so theoretically we’ve identified three Horcruxes, one of which we’ve already found.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hermione theorized that he would have sought to divide his soul into seven parts, where the remaining bit in him is the seventh. In that case, there would still be three Horcruxes left to identify.”

“Yay.” Ginny’s eyes were closed and she continued to rub at her head. 

Harry frowned, walking over to her. “You alright?”

“Just – I haven’t had to study like this in a long, long time,” she explained, smiling softly as Harry started rubbing circles into her shoulders.

“You should try becoming a WEA representative – you get to read all sorts of painfully long bills.” Harry smirked.

“I think I’ll pass,” Ginny mumbled softly, enjoying Harry’s touch on her shoulders. “Your hands are amazing.”

“I have a few other ideas for pain relief,” he told her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh?” she asked, and suddenly his hands were gone and she frowned. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” she repeated as he beckoned her to stand up. She complied, watching as he took her seat and pulled her down so she was sitting on his lap, facing away from him. He returned to massaging her shoulders, before progressively moving his hands farther down, until he was pressing circles into her lower back.

She leaned back, her head tilting to the side, sighing at the sensations. However distressing it might be that they were stuck in Dumbledore’s chateau until he deemed them worthy of his knowledge, being able to spend time together, away from the rest of the world, was almost worth it. 

Harry kissed her exposed neck and moved his hands to her waist, tucking them inside her waistband. “Is this helping?” he whispered into her ear.

She nodded and responded reluctantly, “Shouldn’t we be working?”

Harry groaned, burying his face in her neck. “You know, there’s a reason I didn’t go to University.”

Ginny chuckled as Harry returned to massaging the knots out of her neck. “Dumbledore’s teaching style is quite–“

“Patronizing?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, right there.” Ginny closed her eyes. “But yes. I think he’s been alone too long.”

“I know what you mean.” Harry frowned. “He’s obviously quite intelligent, but I feel like he’s not fighting the same battles as we are. He seems solely focused on defeating Voldemort, as though it’s the only thing that’s important — completely ignoring the fact the future of humanity is at stake.”

“I know,” Ginny moaned as Harry’s hands skirted back to her waist. “Is this the best place to do this?” she whispered.

Harry responded with a smirk. “I mean, I say if he’s going to treat us like horny teenagers…”

* * *

_ November 14, 2006 _

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as Harry and Ginny gave him a briefing of their work from the day before. “Well done. I concur that Hufflepuff’s cup and Ravenclaw’s diadem are likely candidates for Voldemort’s Horcruxes.”

“And you couldn’t have just told us this yesterday?” Harry asked, though he didn’t really expect a straight answer.

“What you propose doing – identifying and destroying these Horcruxes – will take more than just knowing the answers. By understanding these items' histories and the histories of their creators, you will be in a much better position for your inevitable quest.” Dumbledore smiled. 

Harry blinked and heaved an exasperated sigh but chose to move on. “Alright. So, we also created a list of locations that may hold some meaning to Voldemort, based on the history you told us and generic knowledge of the magical world.” Harry looked to the older wizard for acknowledgment. When Dumbledore gave a nod of approval, he continued, “He had a bit of a complex – feeling as though he didn’t have a place in the wizarding world, right? So, I wouldn’t be surprised if  _ any _ notable wizarding establishment in the UK could potentially have a Horcrux. So far, we’re thinking Gringotts, the Old Ministry of Magic, Platform 9 ¾, and Slytherin’s estate – assuming it still exists.”

“This is an excellent start.” Dumbledore beamed at them. “I have only one humble addition – the home of Riddle’s maternal mother, Merope Gaunt.”

Harry looked confused. “But wouldn’t that theoretically be the same as Slytherin’s estate?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Slytherin’s estate, if it exists at all, has been lost to history. I would perhaps start with the others and save that for last.”

“Alright.” Harry nodded, looking at his notes and examining their work. “I’m thinking we go to the Old Ministry of Magic first. I would expect it to be safe – and empty.”

Ginny frowned. “How will we get there?”

Dumbledore smiled. “Portkey, of course.” 

Harry blinked again, grinding his teeth. “So, you just make portkeys?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice neutral.

“Yes, if the situation calls for such a thing,” Dumbledore explained patiently.

“Are you aware that developing portkeys without a waiver from Justice is illegal?” Harry pointed out.

Dumbledore smiled condescendingly. “I am an old man, Harry. I don’t make a point to keep up with the local politics.”

Harry took a deep breath; the man consistently reminded him of some of his  _ least  _ favorite politicians. “So do you believe anyone should be allowed to make portkeys, regardless of the law?”

“I believe that what we do here is for the greater good, and to let small regulations get in the way would be foolish.” Dumbledore appeared serene and unbothered.

“Harry.” Ginny turned to him. “Let’s save the politics for another day and say ‘thank you’ for the portkey.”

“Yes, thank you,” Harry ground out.

* * *

_ London _

“Have you ever been here?” Harry asked Ginny. They had just arrived at the Old Ministry of Magic atrium.

“A few times as a child – my father worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office.” She smiled, looking a touch nostalgic. “I don’t recall all that much, but I do recall this being bigger.” She looked around the long abandoned empty hall. Elevator bays and fireplaces stood scattered along the edges of the hall. Signs, likely once magical but now relegated to either stillness or only the smallest of motions, indicated where the various departments were located.

“I was thinking the same thing. My dad was an Auror before the  _ Event. _ I just remember this place being so chaotic. It’s a bit spooky,” he remarked as they walked in a circle, taking in their surroundings, their footsteps causing a perpetual echo.

“Where should we start?” Ginny asked.

“From Dumbledore’s story, I would assume Voldemort would have had a fascination or desire to work for the Department of Mysteries.” He shrugged, leading them to the appropriate elevator bay. Before letting Harry get in, Ginny did a quick check for the integrity of the lift. Harry’s mouth quirked in amusement. “You know, you’re not my bodyguard anymore.” 

“Old habits die hard. You’re also a magnet for trouble.” She smirked, beckoning him into the lift. 

A soft voice asked for their location, crackling like a radio stuck between stations. They exhaled in relief when the lift started moving at a reasonable pace, though Harry clutched the return portkey between him and Ginny, just in case.  _ ‘Dep-t-ent -f -ster-s’ _ the voice cracked as the lift came to a surprisingly gentle stop. 

“ _ Lumos, _ ” Ginny whispered as they stepped into a pitch dark room, once again forcing him to stay behind her as she evaluated their surroundings. She tensed, grabbing Harry’s arm. 

“We’re not alone,” she whispered to him.

Harry pulled his wand out, emulating the witch and turning so they stood back to back. His wand lit half the room and Harry saw what looked like old boxes and office furniture covered in a thin layer of dust. “Are you sure?” Harry responded.

“What do you see?” Ginny asked, Harry could hear her grabbing for her gun with her left hand.

“Old boxes and furniture – it looks abandoned,” he whispered.

“It’s an illusion,” Ginny told him.

Harry was suddenly alert. “Whoever is there, show yourself!” There was only silence. “We’re not looking to harm anyone, we’re just looking for something.”

Somehow, their wands were extinguished, and the room was completely dark once more. A single globe lit up above them, giving the appearance of a spotlight on Harry and Ginny. He heard steps to his left, which, based on his perception of the room, were impossibly far away. He and Ginny turned towards the sound, and his eyes wrinkled in confusion as he took in the older woman headed their way. Her gray hair was pulled back in a neat bun on the back of her head, her wrinkled face marked by a stern frown.

In spite of her age – Harry would have guessed she was at least 80 – she walked with strength, dark gray robes swaying and an old fashioned witch’s hat perched atop her head. 

“Who are you?” the woman asked, stopping a couple of meters in front of them, her wand held lightly in her right hand. In spite of having two wands and a hand gun pointed in her direction, she looked calm and confident. 

Harry lowered his wand. “I’m Harry Potter, Represe– Former Representative to the WEA Parliament. This is Officer Ginny Weasley.” Ginny stayed on alert, unwilling to disarm.

“And might I ask what you’re doing here?” the woman continued.

Harry and Ginny shared a brief look before Harry responded, “We’re looking for something.”

“No one has entered the Department of Mysteries in nearly a decade,” she stated.

“Then why are you here?” Harry asked.

The woman seemed to consider the question, watching Harry as if looking for something before snapping her fingers, causing the entire facility to light up. Ginny had been right; the previous scene was an illusion. What he saw now was a series of hallways, appearing endless with countless doors every couple of feet. Unlike the atrium, he could feel the dull thrum of magic throughout.

“My name is Minerva McGonagall,” she told them. Ginny lowered her weapon, replacing her gun in its holster but keeping her wand steady. “I am the caretaker of the Department of Mysteries.”

Harry looked confused. “But I thought the Ministry was abandoned?”

McGonagall gave a slight nod. “It was, but the Department of Mysteries contains experiments and magic that would not be – appropriate – to leave unattended.”

Harry raised his eyebrows; as far as he was aware, a part of the WEA constitution required that magicals give up their independent government in order to be represented within the WEA. One of the non-magicals’ greatest fears was the existence of a shadow government or other organization that attempted to subvert the WEA. 

“Does the Alliance know you’re here?” Harry asked.

She shrugged. “I do not know. I have never concerned myself with such things. I’m merely here because someone  _ must _ be.” She was stern, matter of fact, and Harry found himself much more tolerant of her than he was of Dumbledore.

“Harry,” Ginny said, her eyes firmly on the older witch. “I recognize her name – she was a professor at Hogwarts under Dumbledore. He spoke very highly of her.”

McGonagall’s demeanor shifted instantly. “Dumbledore? He’s back?” Her face softened and she took a step forward, her eyes darting between Harry and Ginny.

Harry shook his head. “Not quite – we found him, I guess. He’s assisting us with a bit of a quest.”

She looked disappointed. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes,” Harry said and handed her the portkey, hoping perhaps the trinket would help verify their story.

She looked at it with a wistful smile. “He always had a sweet tooth,” she mumbled, “You wish to look for something?”

Harry exhaled. “Yes, we’re looking for two objects. We suspect someone may have hidden one of them here. We’d like to look around for it.”

McGonagall shook her head. “The Department of Mysteries is endless; if you do not know where to look, you may never find it.”

Harry and Ginny shared a silent conversation before he responded, “The object we’re looking for is dark in nature.”

She shrugged. “We have many of those here.”

Harry shook his head. “This is – different. We’re looking for Horcruxes.”

McGonagall’s eyes went wide. “You believe someone placed a Horcrux  _ here _ ?” 

Harry nodded. “Yes – it’s a theory.” 

The older witch looked thoughtful for a moment. “Come with me.” She beckoned them, turning on the spot and heading towards the hallway to the far right. Harry and Ginny had to jog for a moment to keep up, following the woman down the endless hallway until they came across a black door. She placed her wand on the handle and closed her eyes, mumbling a short incantation. 

The door creaked open and the three walked through, the sconces along the wall lighting up in response to their movement. Shelves cluttered the walls, full of all sorts of baubles, and a table sat in the center, a cauldron atop it holding a thick liquid. Harry peeked in curiously, wondering what was brewing, before he noticed McGonagall turn her attention to an object in the back corner.

“What is it?” Ginny asked, looking wary.

“This,” McGonagall responded, frowning, “is called an  _ animameadeprehendere; _ it is able to discern matters of the soul. I believe we can use it to locate a Horcrux–'' she shivered reflexively, ”–-if one truly was left here.”

“A Horcrux detector?” Harry asked, eyes wide.

She frowned. “That is but one element of the device. But yes, we should be able to use this to detect a Horcrux.” They followed her out of the room and watched as she whispered into the device and frowned.

“What is it?” Ginny asked, concerned.

“I do not believe there are any here.” McGonagall looked at the device thoughtfully before continuing. “I believe, however, there is one elsewhere in London.”

Harry nodded. “That’s very helpful, thank you. Any chance you could narrow it down a smidge?”

The older witch shook her head. “I cannot – but I can give you this.” She handed Harry the device.

His eyes went wide, surprised with her helpfulness, given their rather cold introduction. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “I don’t know for certain why you are here, but I can wager a guess. If you need anything else, please do let me know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/emotions/GIFs!


	33. Chapter 33

_ Hogwarts _   
_ November 16, 2006 _

“The Dark Lord expects much from you,  _ Mudblood _ ,” the man sneered at her. “Again!”

Hermione was breathless, wand at her side and sweat dripping down her face. She had survived Corps boot camp, but of course there, people hadn’t put completely unrealistic expectations on her. 

She had started ‘training’ under Amycus Carrow three days earlier – a regime that seemed to consist of him throwing curses at her and expecting her to curse him back. So far, it seemed the curriculum was entirely focused on breaking her down.

But she wouldn’t break – she refused. “ _ Stupefy! _ ” she called out, and he deflected it easily, sending a curse her way that she deftly leaped to evade.

“Use your wand!” he belted at her. 

Early on, she had disarmed the man with a carefully placed kick, followed up with an elbow to the nose – it was a reflex. Her Corps training  _ had  _ included how to avoid spells and handle interactions with magicals. Now, however, she was informed that this was unacceptable. 

After the misstep that day, he had disarmed her, trapping her against a wall before sending cuts up and down her arms to punish her. She did not attempt a physical offensive again.

That moment, where she had been tied up helplessly and watched the cruel man  _ smiling _ as he threw cut after cut her way, had been an important reminder. She was  _ not _ here on some sort of sociological experiment, and these people weren’t simple religious cultists. These were bigots following a madman who had literally torn apart his soul. If they learned she didn’t have any interest in helping them – or worse, of her true mission there – she would be  _ lucky _ if they only killed her.

She shivered at the thought, refocusing on the task at hand. “Yes sir,” she told Carrow, hoping she effectively kept the vitriol out of her voice.

“ _ Depulso!”  _ she called out, and again _ , _ the man threw out a shield. 

The next time, she attempted her own  _ Protego, _ and his spell harmlessly hit it – at first. And then he kept going, pushing closer and closer, until Hermione’s exhaustion got the better of her and his stunner hit her, knocking her out.

_ “Rennervate,” _ she heard, blinking her eyes in confusion as none other than Draco Malfoy stood over her, his hand out. She cracked her neck, sore from being rendered unconscious,  _ again _ , and pointedly got up on her own, ignoring his hand.

“Are you alright?” he asked, frowning in concern.

“Just my daily lessons,” she spat bitterly.

“How is that going?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Apparently learning magic involves getting cursed all day long,” Hermione drawled, pulling herself together and using her wand to check the time.  _ 6 pm?  _ She realized Carrow must have left her there for over an hour.

“We don’t have to do this,” Draco reminded her, his voice soft.

She looked at him, keeping her facial expression neutral. “Yes, we do.”

“Well, can I help you then?”

“ _ No _ , you can’t,” she breathed and walked past him and out the classroom door, heading to the right.

“That’s not the way out,” he called to her.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. But everything he said just grated her, and all she wanted was a headache potion. “Come on.” She beckoned him to follow her.

He frowned but complied, turning down various corridors behind her until they came to a rather plain looking door. She tapped it three times and the door opened, showing what looked like a very old potions classroom. 

“What is this place?” he asked.

“I’ve been exploring Hogwarts after my lessons, making special notes of any rooms that aren’t on the map Sirius Black gave us. I found this room; I believe it was a potions classroom a long time ago, but the stores are still connected to the greenhouses,” she explained. She lifted a vial on one of the tables and took a sip, letting out a sigh of relief. “Oh that’s better. Carrow is a bigoted piece of shit.”

Draco gave a soft chuckle. “Well, he’s actually not as bad as his sister.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking! He basically chained me to a wall and tortured me when I disarmed him the ‘Muggle’ way,” she informed him.

He paled, but didn’t look particularly surprised. “Alecto used to have us practice curses on each other – we were expected to cast an effective  _ Cruciatus  _ by the age of 15.”

“But – why?” Hermione stuttered, appalled.

He shrugged. “I assume the same reason Amycus curses you all day. They view the ability to cause pain as a sign of strength.“

“That’s absurd,” Hermione said, and then recalled a long-forgotten conversation. “Do you still feel that way? I remember not long ago, you explained to me the importance of power in leadership.” 

Draco nodded. “I  _ did, _ but–” he paused, carefully considering his words, “–when I was sent to find you, the Dark Lord described you as a ‘powerful being.’ I guess I was expecting some sort of ‘super witch.’ But I realized, it’s not your magic that makes you powerful, it’s your  _ mind _ . Your magic – which is extraordinary – is nothing compared to your intelligence. That’s when I understood – leadership is about so much more than raw power.”

Hermione had been preparing a new potion but stopped midway through his speech, frowning. “Well, that’s good.” She hadn’t expected him to be so — enlightened on the subject.

He looked disappointed by her reaction. “Is everything alright?” He tried to put a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged him off, moving to a closet where the stores of supplies were located.

He looked around the room. “Where did you get all these books?”

“Library,” she answered, returning with a few jars before refocusing on the potion. “Once I realized that Carrow had no intention of actually  _ teaching  _ me anything, I decided I might as well teach myself.”

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” He looked hurt, watching her work mechanically from a distance.

“Why would I?” She didn’t even look up from her potion.

“Did I do something?” 

“No,” she answered, too quickly.

“Mm-hmm.” He stepped closer. “Hermione, look at me. What’s wrong?”

Hermione was silent, freezing in the middle of a clockwise stir. “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married in a month?” 

“It didn’t matter.” 

“Oh, sorry, you’re right, my mistake!” She was livid, angrily placing some sort of herb in the cauldron, stirring aggressively.

“That’s not what I meant,” Draco groaned. “You’re infuriating, you know that right?”

“You’re not the first to call me that.” She shrugged.

“What I mean is that, when you found out about her, I had no intention of ever coming back here, so it didn’t matter,” he explained.

“But then we  _ did _ decide to come back, and you  _ could _ have said something,” she pointed out.

“I don’t know what to say” He looked regretful.

“Have you spent time with her?” she asked.

“Really, Granger?” he drawled.

“She seems delightful. And her sister is brilliant,” Hermione pointed out.

“I don’t want to be with her.” 

“But if we’re still here in a month, will you have a choice?” she asked, now methodically chopping roots.

He walked over, grabbing her hand and pulling her from the cauldron. 

“Draco! The potion!” 

He rolled his eyes and cast a quick stasis charm earning a reprimanding look from the witch. “I’m sorry,” he told her, “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I guess I hoped the engagement would just go away.”

“Do you see why I struggle to trust you?” She looked him right in the eye. Hermione had spent an indecent amount of time thinking about it the last few days – questioning why he continued to lie to her. Did he not respect her? Death Eater society was, she noticed, quite chauvinistic. Perhaps he believed he was entitled to only sharing with her what he wanted to? 

But there was that nagging thought in the back of her mind:  _ what else was he keeping from her _ ? What other secrets would come out and continue to hurt her? So she had made no effort to see him over the past three days, hoping time and space would let her see this situation rationally and without her heart attempting to pound out of her chest at the mere  _ thought _ of him.

He looked almost in pain. “The whole deal with Astoria isn’t important, Hermione! I told you–“

“That you want me just trust you without question, yes I recall,” she started, neglecting to mention his admission to her  _ that _ night, which she had  _ definitely _ not dwelled on.

“No,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from her potions and towards another table covered in books. She let herself be moved, a worried look crossing her face as he grabbed her other hand. “You should trust me because I care about you, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She shook her head and dropped her hands, letting them fall to her sides. “Do you understand what I’ve been through in the last month? I’ve  _ told _ you. I want to trust you. But you have to  _ show _ me – you have to stop lying and hiding things. Right now, you are my  _ only ally here _ . Do you understand exactly how precarious my situation is here?” she asked him.

“Of course.” 

“No – I don’t think you do. Because honestly, until the last few days,  _ I _ didn’t quite appreciate it. Right now, I’m protected, to some extent, because Volde – the  _ Dark Lord _ – clearly has plans for me. But if he gets the  _ slightest _ inkling that perhaps my motives for being here aren’t quite so pure and innocent, what then? Do you think he’ll just give me a stern lecture? Perhaps they’ll give me a portkey back to London? No, I don’t think so. Amycus represents a substantial number of the Death Eaters – the ones who are just  _ waiting _ for me to screw up, so they can show me what they  _ really _ think of me.” She stopped, breathless once again.

“We can leave, right now.” He tentatively moved his hands to her shoulders, gently rubbing her arms. She couldn’t help it; she sighed at the contact, leaning into his hand.

“No,” she reiterated. “I’m sorry. It’s been a trying three days.”

“You have to let me help,” he told her pointedly.

“Alright,” she conceded.

“Alright?” He looked surprised.

“I admit that perhaps my anger towards you is not entirely rational. But I do acknowledge that you are intelligent and capable, and I’m realizing I cannot do this on my own,” she explained. 

He nodded; though he was frowning slightly.

“Well, I actually came here for a reason.” He paused. “A few friends and I are going to a pub. I wanted to see if you’d like to join.”

“That’s probably not a good idea.” She smiled softly. “Not all of your friends are quite so accepting of me.”

“Well, Greg won’t be there. It’s just going to be Vincent, Millie, and Theo,” he explained.

“I thought you were wary of Theo,” Hermione reminded him.

He nodded. “It’s part of why I want to go; I’m hoping some drink will get him to open up about what’s been happening here while I was away.”

She considered it. She had met Vincent the day before, when he had been over to take Millie on a formal ‘date’ of sorts. He seemed relatively innocuous and genuinely smitten with her host. As far as Draco’s theories on Theo were concerned, she still thought he was perhaps looking at the situation incorrectly, that he only doubted Theo because he himself had changed. But she had given up on arguing further on the matter.

“You have a pub here?” She hadn’t recalled seeing anything.

“Well, we do two days a week,” he said sheepishly.

“Hmm. Alright. But if I’m uncomfortable, I’m leaving.”

* * *

When Draco and Hermione made it to the pub, apparently called the ‘Snake Head,’ which made Hermione snort for  _ all _ the wrong reasons, everyone was already there. And by  _ everyone _ she meant Theo, Millie, Vincent,  _ and _ Astoria. Draco gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and a look that assured her that he truly hadn’t expected her to be there. Hermione gave him a quick nod in understanding before sitting in the empty chair next to Millicent.

“I’m so glad you made it.” Millie smiled warmly. Hermione wondered, not for the first time, how this woman, who didn’t seem to have a mean bone in her body, could possibly survive in a place like this. 

“Of course,” Hermione replied, looking around to see that other than their table of six, only two other tables were occupied. She thought of the few times she had been to pubs in London and how loud and boisterous they seemed to be. She couldn’t quite decide if this was a point for or against the Death Eaters. As it was, the pub’s atmosphere was dark and dank. The lights flickered, and she wondered if this was incidental or for effect. Glasses washed themselves behind the bar, and drinks floated to and fro. 

The walls were conspicuously bare, odd rectangular splotches indicating a painting or tapestry had been removed. She wondered why they hadn’t fixed this place – perhaps it had only recently opened up? Or perhaps they just didn’t care. She imagined it could be done easily with magic, but maybe it wasn’t so simple. 

Theo placed a shot in front of her, and her mind went back to the last time she drank, her eyes inadvertently landing on Draco before blinking back to the drink in front of her. 

“It’s firewhiskey,” Theo said with a knowing smirk, moving his chair to her right.

She knew what firewhiskey was – but figured it was best not to remind Death Eaters that magicals and non-magicals lived together in the rest of the world. So, she smiled demurely and took the shot, giving only the slightest wince as it burned down her throat. She tried to ignore Draco, who was sitting next to Astoria while giving Hermione little looks. 

“Want another?” Theo asked, a smirk on his face. His perfectly coiffed hair fluttered in the air when a patron left and a gust of wind streamed in.

“Why not?” Hermione responded. She wished she could blend into the wall and be an anthropologist, documenting and analyzing the movements of these young Death Eaters. She watched Millie and Vince flirt and gossip about Death Eater minutiae, but she tried not to judge since Millie did appear to be truly happy. Astoria looked so proper as she sat in her olive-green robes and took sips of her firewhiskey.

Draco was a perfect gentleman, asking her about how everything was coming along as she settled into her new life in Hogsmeade, what hobbies she had, what she had studied. Looking at the couples as her second firewhiskey was placed in front of her, she realized – they were coupled off. Vince and Millie, Draco and Astoria, and–

“So Hermione,” Theo scooted his chair  _ just _ a touch closer, placing his arm on the back of her seat. She was a little panicked now, and wished she had thought to ask Draco about the rituals and etiquette of Death Eater dating. “I heard you’ve been stuck with the male Carrow.”

She grunted automatically before covering her mouth, her eyes wide. But he just laughed. “Oh, trust me –  _ no one _ has fond memories of either Carrow.” He shivered outwardly as if to reinforce that. 

She took her shot and exhaled sharply after swallowing. “It’s been quite the experience,” she confirmed – which was true _.  _ Just not a pleasant experience. “I just wish I could learn more.”

“Like what?” he asked; his eyes lit up, and she looked at him curiously.

“Oh, everything. Draco taught me some charms when we were on the run, but I’m sure there are so many more. And I’ve done some reading on transfiguration and potions – the sheer breadth of what magic can do is incredible,” Hermione gushed, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. But Theo had such an easygoing way about him that it was easy for her to forget herself and Draco’s warnings.

“I know what you mean.” He leaned back in his chair and grabbed two larger drinks. “Butterbeer,” he explained. “I was so disappointed when I realized we wouldn’t be learning at Hogwarts properly. I’m a bit of a nerd, if you haven’t realized.” 

She shook her head, curious now. “So what’s your favorite bit of magic?”

“Oh, that’s a loaded question.” He frowned, thinking. “I’ve always found Ancient Runes fascinating.”

“Ancient Runes?” she asked.

He nodded. “It’s an old form of magic, more ritualistic. The power of symbols and nature really. But it’s quite fascinating.”

“Sounds incredible,” she said, her mind wandering at the words  _ ‘old magic.’ _ “Can you recommend any books?”

He smiled and took a sip of his butterbeer. “I’ll tell you what, perhaps you can swing by my place after your – studies – sometime this week, and I’ll lend you a few?”

She froze, her mouth falling open and her hand clenching her drink. “Oh, I don’t think that would be appropriate.” 

He laughed. “It’s perfectly acceptable for a lady to go over to a  _ friend’s _ house to borrow a book.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, I’ll see what I can do.” She gave a slight smile and then frowned, looking around frantically.

“What is it?” Theo asked, concerned.

“Are there any toilets in here?” 

He chuckled and pointed to the far left corner. “Yes, we’re not animals.” 

She thanked him and hurried in the direction he pointed. Like the rest of the place, it had seen better days, but unlike the London pubs, it was definitely clean, so there was that. As she was heading out of the cubicle, she heard a lock and her eyes went wide, her hand moving automatically to her wand.

“Hermione.” She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw Draco, standing by the sinks, a serious look on his face.

“You scared me! What are you doing here? These are the girls’ toilets!” For whatever reason, this was the only thing that stuck in her mind in that moment – the one thing she could fully grasp.

He had his back against the sink and grabbed her, kissing her roughly. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her, trying her best to ignore the bright lights and porcelain sinks. His tongue traced her lower lip before lightly biting it. She moaned into his mouth, pressing herself into him when she heard a ‘ _ thump _ ’ as something hit the sink.

“What are we doing?” she whispered, placing her hands on his chest and stepping back.

“I missed you,” he told her, bringing his hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing her scar. And whether she was willing to admit it or not, she missed him too. She leaned into his touch, her eyes shutting at the feel of his hand. He pulled her to him again and she gave in, pressing herself fully against him, their kisses rough and urgent. She ground herself against his leg, frustrated at their height difference when he turned her and picked her up, placing her on the sink.

She undid her robe, not caring if it was soaking wet and opened her legs suggestively. On some level, she recognized this was _ not _ her – she may not be a prude but she did not make a habit of shagging men in bathrooms. But she had to admit, sitting on the edge of the sink, feeling Draco gasp into her mouth as she gazed into his lust filled eyes, perhaps she should reconsider.

He took off his own robe, letting it fall to the floor. “Draco, we have to hurry up,” she told him, pulling his trousers and boxers off in one motion and then taking care of her own, completely overcome with need. She pulled him back to her by his tie roughly, her trousers dangling at her ankles precariously.

He groaned and pressed his hand to her core. “I think you missed me too,” he whispered in her ear, placing two fingers within her immediately. She pulled his lips down to hers, and he removed his fingers and immediately buried himself in her.

“Holy shit,” she moaned as he entered her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck for support and her arse on the edge of the porcelain sink. Hermione didn’t know if it was because this was ‘forbidden,’ or perhaps because they were in a public toilet, but the experience was like nothing she’d had before. She leaned into his rhythm, their position providing pressure in just the right places. 

“Draco, please, harder,” she whispered to him, attempting to pull him closer as he quickened his pace.

She was close. She moved her legs so her feet were grabbing his knees, thrusting her hips and chest forward. He started placing light kisses along her neck and down the small bit of chest her shirt didn’t cover. She moved her hands back, placing them on the back of the sink, her sense of equilibrium growing unsteady. His pace grew more chaotic and she could tell he was close. Lost in the moment, she reached down and rubbed herself along with Draco’s rhythm, his mouth on hers the only thing that kept her from screaming out as they found their release in tandem.

She pushed him off abruptly. “We have to get back,” she mumbled in his mouth and he simply nodded. The pair redressed and straightened themselves out. Suddenly hyperaware of their surroundings, she looked at him. “This was stupid.”

“I just saw you with–“ 

“No,” Hermione interrupted. “We’re playing a dangerous game in this place.”

“You weren’t exactly complaining.” He smirked at her.

She shook her head, softening slightly. “I know.” She placed her hand on the door and paused. “Wait a couple of minutes before you come out.”

She headed back to the table and Theo smiled at her, completely oblivious, and offered her another drink. She saw Millie and Vince, immersed in one other and probably unaware she and Draco were even missing. But then she saw Astoria giving her a soft  _ knowing  _ smile, and she felt her face go red.

This was a dangerous game they played, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> A special thank you on this chapter to my good friend [LeilahMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilahMoon/pseuds/LeilahMoon) for sweeping in at the last minute and brit-picking the bathroom/loo/toilet smut scene at the end. I've learned my lesson and will never have characters go to the bathroom/restroom/loo/toilet ever again.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/emotions/GIFs!


	34. Chapter 34

_ Diagon Alley _   
_ November 18, 2006 _

Harry and Ginny trekked along the empty cobblestone road, their steps tentative, as if they were worried something lay in wait to attack them. “It’s eerie,” Ginny commented, her voice unnecessarily low.

“I don’t think I’ve been here since before the  _ Event _ ,” Harry mused, feeling a tug at his chest as they passed the empty storefronts, noticing graffiti and other evidence of neglect. After the formation of the WEA, magical vendors gradually found their way to the non-magical shopping centers and main streets. Harry had never thought about it before, but seeing Diagon Alley in such a state was – disconcerting. 

“What are you thinking about?” Ginny asked, eyebrow raised..

“Hm? Oh–” he paused, “–I’m remembering the first time I came here. I was quite young, and I’m sure it was for ice cream or something equally childish, but it was just so magical. No cars, everyone free to use their magic at will.” He looked over and saw the faded sign,  _ Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour _ , and felt a pang of nostalgia.

“Are you starting to gain sympathy for the isolationists?” Ginny asked, her voice teasing, with a hint of curiosity.

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t think things are so simple. But perhaps bringing the magic of this place into the WEA is something to strive for. Not necessarily within enclaves or at Hogwarts, but  _ everywhere _ . Isn’t that the advantage of no more statute of secrecy? We’re no longer isolated.” 

She put out her hand and he took it, and for a moment he could pretend he was out on a nice walk with his girlfriend, rather than searching for a Horcrux. As the pair approached Gringotts, he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned when he noticed that, unlike the rest of the Alley, the bank appeared in pristine shape. The white building stood tall and proud amongst the hastily boarded windows and disrepair of its neighbors. 

“I’m guessing someone’s here.” Harry raised his eyebrows as he opened the unlocked door.

“Welcome to Gringotts,” a solitary Goblin greeted them, his face neutral as though it were just a typical day and they were there to do a bit of banking. “How can we help you today?”

Harry was utterly speechless. The lobby was spotless, the portraits that adorned the walls were clean of dust, and the marble floors appeared waxed. He couldn’t help but wonder how long exactly this Goblin had been here waiting. “Uh,” Harry started, blinking.

“Do you have an account with us? Or do you wish to open one?” the Goblin drawled. 

“Oh shit,” Ginny interrupted, watching the Horcrux detector in her hands. She looked at Harry wide-eyed. “It’s here.”

“Uh, sir,” Harry addressed the Goblin, his vague recollections of Goblin history urging him to be as polite as possible. “We have a bit of a complicated situation we would very much appreciate your help with.”

The Goblin nodded and gestured for them to follow him to an office. He waved at the front door, presumably locking it, leaving Harry to wonder if perhaps the only reason the door had been unlocked in the first place was because the Goblin detected his and Ginny’s arrival. 

The office was large, an obvious display of Gringotts’ status and wealth. The Goblin immediately took the large blue velvet chair behind the desk, his back upright and hands clasped in front of him. The desk was large and mahogany, a relic of another era. Various golden instruments adorned the desk; Harry wondered if they served a functional purpose or were there merely to reinforce the wealth of this place. The far wall was covered in bookshelves, their every nook and cranny filled with what looked like priceless, rare tomes. 

The Goblin looked at Harry expectantly, gesturing to the two wooden chairs opposite him. Harry and Ginny took their seats, fidgeting awkwardly. “So, Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?” 

Harry blinked, trying to recall if he ever said who he was. 

“Yes, we know who you are, Mr. Potter. We’re not completely ignorant to the world around us,” the Goblin snarled, in response to Harry’s unasked question.

“Apologies,” Harry started. “We’re on a quest of sorts. We’re attempting to find certain objects and believe that one is located in your vaults.”

“Hmm,” the Goblin responded. “Do you have the proper key and credentials to get into this vault?”

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, completely at a loss for words. Switching gears, he noticed a nameplate. “Is your name Griphook?” 

“Yes,” Griphook confirmed, looking apathetic.

Harry tried to imagine who even  _ had _ vaults at Gringotts. His dad had emptied his, like most wizards, after the formation of the WEA, both because the wizarding financial system was antiquated and as a show of faith in the new government. He knew Gringotts was an international bank, so it was reasonable to imagine that in other countries where magicals were still holed up, the bank may still have prestige. But obviously some magicals must still have vaults at Gringotts since their Horcrux detector had indicated something was here...

“You have done an excellent job with the upkeep of Gringotts.” Harry attempted a friendly smile, gathering his thoughts.

The Goblin returned, with a glare, “Of course.”

“I’m curious though – given that the vast majority of witches and wizards have migrated to using WEA currency, how is it that you all stay in business?” Harry asked, attempting to keep his tone neutral.

“There are many who still feel more secure having their personal wealth stored in Gringotts rather than in a Muggle bank,” he drawled. 

Harry placed a hand up, hoping to indicate he meant no harm, he was only curious. “The thing is, the WEA is technically sovereign over all of London, including Diagon Alley. Now, there are a number of banking regulations that require foreign entities who bank within the WEA to be registered explicitly as such. As I'm sure you’re aware, domestic terrorism funded by foreign interests laundering money through our banks has been a serious problem since the WEA's founding. Registering foreign entities drastically curtailed terrorist activity,” Harry explained.

“Now, I can’t say that I’ve ever  _ personally _ reviewed the annual banking certifications of foreign interests. But I feel reasonably confident I would have heard if  _ Death Eaters _ were registered as a foreign entity with banking interests in the WEA.” Harry watched as Griphook shifted slightly in his seat, his face still a mask of indifference. “Especially since I was the recent target of a murder plot where Death Eaters were involved in the conspiracy. 

“So, when I think about who is still using these vaults, given no one  _ I _ know still banks here, I’m led to believe that a good chunk of them are  _ Death Eaters _ . In fact, it would explain why you’re even here at all; you weren’t expecting us, but you  _ always  _ have to be prepared for them. I wouldn’t be surprised if, with a little hint, our Justice Department might be able to find a connection between the accounts of the conspirators who tried to murder me and the Death Eaters. You know–” Harry paused a moment, brushing a finger along his chin, “–perhaps if the Death Eaters’ accounts  _ had _ been registered, we could have uncovered the plot earlier.”

“I don’t appreciate being blackmailed,” Griphook spat.

Harry put his hands up. “I’m not attempting to blackmail you! I’m simply explaining  _ why  _ the WEA has these regulations. I remember the world the way it used to be; I know that Gringotts has a reputation for being “above it all,” so to speak. You’ve been around for over a thousand years – you’re not concerned with the tides of men. Sure, right now, the WEA may be in power, but you don’t want to alienate whoever comes next, and I have a lot of respect for that. You don’t take sides, but you also don’t fault those who do.

“But right now,” Harry placed his finger on the desk for effect, “the Death Eaters have chosen  _ not  _ to be a part of the WEA, and they are, for all intents and purposes, a foreign entity. And since they have not, I assume, correctly reported their banking status in the WEA, they do not have the same rights and privileges as WEA citizens. All I am asking, is to find one item that should be in one vault. I have no desire to take anything beyond that.”

Griphook looked at Harry with something resembling respect. Harry took a calming breath, and Ginny looked at him curiously, not used to seeing the politician in him come out. She was amazed at just how good he was at it. 

“Perhaps we can make an exception this once. After all, we are but humble servants of the Alliance,” Griphook relented. He stood up, gesturing for them to follow.

Walking behind the Goblin, Harry let out a huff of breath and broke into a wide smile, relieved the gambit had worked. Ginny squeezed his hand, and the pair followed the Goblin to some cart tracks. 

“Do you know whose vault holds the item you’re looking for?” Griphook asked.

Ginny looked at the detector carefully. “We can’t give you the precise location, but I believe it is quite deep.”

Griphook guided them into a small cart. Ginny gave out an unconscious ‘whoop’ of excitement and joined Harry on the bench in the back, holding on tight as it took off. The ride seemed to go on forever, and Harry grew progressively more uncomfortable as they ventured impossibly deep; he was reminded of his non-magical geology classes and their lessons about the hot magma in the Earth’s core. 

Just as he was about to express his concerns to Ginny, she shouted, “Stop!” 

The Goblin obeyed but gave a face to suggest he was doing it because  _ he _ wanted to stop, not because she had directed him to. 

Harry noticed the Horcrux detector spinning wildly. He frowned as it led them to what appeared to be a blank wall.

“Hmm...” Griphook cocked his head.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Is this the vault you wish to enter?” Griphook asked. Ginny nodded, and he continued, “This is the Lestrange vault. Of course, there are no Lestranges left. You should be grateful for this; were they still around, it would be very dangerous to steal from them.” His mouth stretched into a devilish smile, revealing dozens of yellowed, pointy teeth, making Harry pale slightly.

The Goblin instructed them to stand back as he gently caressed the wall, and suddenly a door formed. Griphook mumbled something, and it jolted open. 

The vault felt dark the moment Harry entered. Mixed among the gold strewn about were a number of objects that were clearly dark artifacts. He saw a golden jack o’ lantern that appeared to be bleeding from its eyes and try as he might, he couldn’t for the life of him see any utilitarian value in such a thing. He walked around the vault, searching, until he saw what they were looking for – a small cup, high on a top shelf. 

“Ginny!” he called out and then quickly summoned the cup, using a handkerchief from his pocket to avoid directly touching it.

They retreated from the vault, Harry holding the cup about a foot from his face. Griphook cocked his head, looking at the pair curiously. “Perhaps I should thank  _ you _ for removing that,” he said, before gesturing for them to return to the cart. 

Despite Griphook’s ominous thanks, Harry and Ginny spent the ride to the surface quietly elated over finding a Horcrux.

At the surface, Harry was preparing to say goodbye when he had a thought. “How have the Goblins been since the  _ Event _ ?” he asked Griphook.

Griphook looked taken aback. “We have found places where we can exist in peace.” 

“Is there a reason you never tried to assimilate with the non-magicals?” Harry asked.

Griphook let out the Goblin equivalent of a laugh, causing both Harry and Ginny to take an automatic step back. “Wizards have wronged us for so long, why would we give the other breed of human the opportunity to do so as well?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “It’s just, I think if the  _ Event _ taught us anything, it’s that perhaps we need to be a little better about letting go of old prejudices. We had always believed that non-magicals would burn us at the stake or otherwise revolt against us. And I’m not trying to suggest that it was rainbows and unicorns when the statute of secrecy was broken, but the majority of non-magicals were willing to give us a chance. 

“We’ve always let the loudest in the room have the biggest voice. It was one of the toughest parts of the formation of the WEA – we had to convince witches and wizards that most non-magicals were not going to harm them. And then we discovered something incredible: we could be  _ more _ together than we ever were apart.

“I’m sorry if this feels like a lecture, but it’s something I feel passionate about. I know the magical creature community has been somewhat in disarray. And really, it’s  _ our  _ fault, and I am willing to take responsibility for that, on behalf of witches and wizards. And I know it’s risky, potentially trusting us or, even worse, trusting non-magicals when your histories dictate otherwise. But I think it would be worth it. I believe that we, as a society, are on a precipice – we can be great, or we can stagnate.” Harry paused.

Griphook gave Harry a calculating look. “You refer to your birth rate problem?”

Harry nodded. “I believe we will solve it. But then, all we’ll have left is each other. In a way, the birth rate problem was something of a gift for a young society; it was something we all had in common, something we had to solve  _ together _ . But once it’s resolved, what then? I believe  _ that’s  _ when we have to choose to trust that the WEA is more than just tape and glue, that it’s something real and something that can last. 

“The world is an ugly place right now. I guess what I’m saying is we need  _ everyone  _ to make it better. Magical creatures are magic incarnate; you bring an element to our society that has been lacking.” Harry looked Griphook directly in the eye. “So I guess just think about it; maybe send a representative or two to the WEA Parliament and see what we can do together.”

“You are unexpected, Mr. Potter,” the Goblin remarked, his face neutral but his eyes showing interest. “You speak to me as an equal. Though you are an idealist, your argument holds logic and passion. I will share your message.” He nodded and waved at the front door, unlocking it.

“That’s all I ask.” Harry smiled.

* * *

_ Chamonix, France _

“Were you successful?” Dumbledore asked as they landed gracefully on the back patio. He was sitting on a rather odd lawn chair, smoking a pipe.

Harry couldn’t help the smile that covered his face as he showed the old man the cup. 

“Well done Harry!” Dumbledore beamed.

“Thank you, sir.” He nodded, and he and Ginny went inside to put the cup with the locket.

“Alright,” Ginny stated as they stood over the box in the living room that held the dark artifacts. “We have the cup and the locket, so there are hopefully just four left.”

“You know,” Harry started, wrapping his arms around Ginny’s waist from behind, “until today, I was scared this was going to be futile.” He tilted his head, gently laying kisses on her neck.

“Stop that!” She smacked his hand. “Dumbledore could be watching!”

“We’re grown adults.” He held onto her despite her protest, blowing lightly at a sensitive spot behind her ear. “Besides,” he was whispering now, watching as her eyes shuttered, “he’ll probably be out there for a while.” He grabbed her arse and smiled as her eyes went wide.

“You’re a terrible influence,” she admonished, but she was smiling and grabbed Harry’s hand, dragging him down the hall to her room. She walked in and then suddenly noticed Harry hadn’t followed. “What’s wrong?” She frowned at him.

He looked perplexed. “I can’t come in.” She watched as he  _ tried _ to enter but each time was thwarted as though the threshold was an invisible door.

She laughed so hard she almost cried. “Oh my goodness. I read about this in  _ Hogwarts, a History _ . C’mon, we’ll go to your room.”

They trekked to the other side of the house, Ginny explaining along the way, “Apparently at Hogwarts, boys were not allowed in the girl’s dormitories but girls  _ were _ allowed in the boys’. Something old-fashioned, I’m sure.”

Harry smiled as Ginny successfully entered his room, barely listening to her explanation. He kicked the door closed and pulled her to him, kissing her roughly, his fingers gently combing through her hair. She pushed him, and he smiled as he collapsed onto the bed, his glasses shifting.

She gazed down at his quirky, almost boyish smile. “Harry,” she started, straddling him and biting slightly at her lip, “why me?”

He sat up and straightened his glasses, pulling her closer to him so their faces were inches apart. “What?”

She huffed, blowing a stray flyaway out of her face. “I don’t want to sound –  _ whiny _ – but you have to understand you’re  _ you _ . You just convinced a  _ Goblin _ to let you take something from Gringotts. You’re a legend, Harry Potter.” 

He kissed her, distracting her from her musings. 

She dug her fingers into the back of his hair while he traced lines up and down her back. “Nope,” she shook herself, “you’re not going to distract me.”

“Hmm,” Harry grunted. “You were saying I’m a legend?”

“Yes.” She shifted, her lips curling into a slight frown. “You know I’m just a Corps Officer, right? And — I like it, what I do. What happens when you need something else? I’m not a politician, you know. I don’t have an interest in that world. I worry one day you’ll resent that.”

“Just a Corps Officer?” he repeated back to her.

“You know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes.

“Ginny,” he whispered and started pressing kisses against her neck as he responded. “I’ve been around all sorts of women all my life. But you’re the first who just accepts  _ me _ . You’re not looking for the politician or boy who cried for his mother in front of the whole world.” He frowned for a moment and leaned his forehead against hers. “When I’m with you, it’s like I can finally breathe. I don’t worry about saying or being the wrong thing.”

“Yeah?” she whispered.

“Mm-Hmm.” He smiled. “It also helps that you’re incredibly sexy when you defend me.”

She laughed. “You know, most men wouldn’t be able to stand that.”

“Oh.” Harry’s laugh deepened and he pulled her to him, grabbing her arse suggestively, “I  _ know _ my strengths and weaknesses. I’ll always let you fight my battles for me.”

Ginny nodded and leaned forward, pushing Harry to lay flat on the bed. The word  _ always _ lingering uncomfortably in the back of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/emotions/GIFs!


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for this chapter - see end notes for details.

_ Hogwarts/Hogsmeade _   
_ November 21, 2006 _

Hermione sat in Millie’s living room, warily eyeing the door, choosing to ignore the soft knock and return to her book –  _ Moste Potente Potions, _ a fascinating, if perhaps ethically murky, compendium of potions. Her instructor had thankfully been called away, so she had the luxury of not being attacked that morning.

_ Knock knock _ . She looked at the door, annoyed; Millie wasn’t at the house and she was fairly certain that Draco had his ‘training’ or whatever it was he did all day as a ‘soldier.’  _ Knock knock knock _ . She huffed and put her book down, relaxing her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression, which shifted into surprise upon seeing who was on the other side of the door.

“Astoria?” Hermione blurted out.

“Hello, Hermione,” she responded with a serene smile. She had on light blue robes that managed to somewhat show off her feminine figure, and her blonde hair bobbed against her shoulders delightfully. “I apologize for coming here unannounced, I was hoping I may speak with you?”

Hermione blinked a few times before nodding awkwardly and opening the door, gesturing for the younger woman to enter. “Er,” Hermione started, guiding her to a chair in Millie’s living room. “Can I get you something?”

“Some tea would be lovely.” Astoria nodded. Hermione went to the kitchen, trying to remember how to make tea the magical way, and returned with what was likely a lukewarm concoction. Of course, Astoria took a sip and graciously thanked her. 

“So,” Hermione started, nervous and fidgeting uncomfortably, “was there something you were hoping to talk about?”

“Oh, well, not particularly. It’s rather awkward but,” Astoria mumbled and turned away. 

Hermione found her neck turning red in anticipation.  _ She knows about Draco and me. _ Hermione tried to mentally formulate some sort of denial or excuse. 

“While of course I enjoy being here, where I can practice my magic without prohibition, I find myself – nostalgic for things from my old life.” Astoria smiled again, lightly biting her lip.

“Oh, of course.” Hermione felt almost idiotic for not considering it before. Perhaps it was because Astoria seemed to fit in so seamlessly or smiled constantly. But then again, that was rather hypocritical of Hermione, who was also playing a role here, so to speak. 

“Is there anything specific you – think of?” Hermione asked.

“Well, my cell phone, of course. Though, it’s lovely to be able to Apparate throughout Hogsmeade whenever I want to speak with someone,” Astoria qualified, smiling.

“Yes, it is quite strange to be without one. Though I spent the last two years out of cell range, so I guess I’m used to it.” Hermione mulled it over, frowning. “Do you miss your family?” 

Astoria looked uncomfortable. “Well, I’m very happy to be here, and I’m very excited to be starting my own family. Perhaps I wish that my sister could be here with me as well,” she responded diplomatically, her words clipped and purposeful.

Hermione suddenly wondered if they had any news out here. Did Astoria know Harry was alive? Did she know that her sister had been appointed to represent wizarding England in Parliament? She suddenly felt this irrational desire to tell her how she had met Harry and heard all about Daphne but knew she  _ couldn’t _ . For all she knew, Vold – the  _ Dark Lord _ – had put Astoria up to this, had asked her to come over and test Hermione’s loyalties.

“Astoria,” Hermione started, deciding at the very least it would be okay for Astoria to be aware of what was going on in Daphne’s life that was public news. “Have you heard everything going on with your sister and Harry Potter?”

Astoria’s eyes grew wide. “No, they – we, don’t concern ourselves with WEA news here.” The younger witch looked contemplative for a moment. “Was there something you wished to discuss?” 

It was clever wording, Hermione admitted, and she found herself moderately impressed. “Oh, well, we caught the news a few times while we were on the run,” Hermione lied. “Harry Potter was assumed dead, but he’s alright, he showed back up right before Draco and I came here. But Daphne Greengrass – that’s your sister, right? – took over his seat in Parliament.” Hermione chose to forego mentioning Daphne had  _ also _ become the subject of a media scandal.

“Really?” Astoria asked, eyes wide. “I can’t believe I missed that.” She looked away from Hermione, looking troubled before she remembered herself, her face returning to a serene mask. It was puzzling to Hermione – trying to reconcile this young woman who was nostalgic for home with the female Death Eater she seemed so ready to be. She had come here of her own volition, hadn’t she? Was she regretful or perhaps simply nostalgic? Or was she being purposefully disarming? 

Hermione once again found herself feeling as though she couldn’t trust anyone. The brief interlude in Cambridge with Harry, Ginny, and Sirius had reminded her what it felt like to be on a team, to be able to speak openly without fear of reprisal. But now, rather than fearing mere imprisonment in the WEA, she experienced the looming threat of  _ death _ \- or worse. 

“My father must have been ecstatic.” Astoria smiled.

Hermione vaguely recalled the investigators call the night before their departure from Cambridge and knew that Astoria’s father was in fact implicated in Harry’s assassination attempt, but she chose to just nod and smile. “Um,” Hermione awkwardly attempted to fill in the silence. “Was there anything else?”

Astoria looked torn, taking another sip of her tea and gently placing it on the saucer before responding. “Oh, nothing specific, it’s just nice to speak with someone who has some familiarity with the world I grew up in.” 

“At least Draco has had some experience in the WEA.” Hermione could have slapped herself the second the words left her lips. 

“Yes, that’s true. But his experiences were limited and quite different than my own,” Astoria explained. 

Hermione wanted to protest, because that was true for her as well, but preferred to shift entirely from the subject of Draco. 

But, Astoria wasn’t done yet. “Speaking of Draco, there  _ was  _ something I was hoping to speak with you about.”

Hermione attempted an innocent smile. “Hmm?”

“Look, Hermione. I know that you and Draco went through a bit of an odyssey together. And you seem quite close. It’s just, I’ll be married to him in three weeks, and at that point, I would really like him to be  _ my _ husband.” Astoria gave a regretful smile.

“Of course,” Hermione agreed, willing her cheeks to  _ stop turning red! _

“I’m not trying to suggest you two can’t be friends, I’m not that kind of person. I–” Astoria paused, raising her eyes to look at Hermione directly. “I came to Hogsmeade for one reason – to get married. I will be honest with you, Hogsmeade was not what I expected. That’s not to say I’m unhappy to be here, just that it was not something I would have ever anticipated. So far, Draco has been a perfect gentleman, but he’s quite distant, and I believe I know why.” She spoke clearly but Hermione could still detect her discomfort.

Hermione tried to put herself in Astoria’s shoes. Of course, she had never grown up with any kind of expectations or antiquated family values. But still, she tried to imagine how she would feel if she had been sent to marry someone, only to find they had run off to find some other woman in another country. It was odd to consider – ever since Harry Potter had said Astoria Greengrass’s name two weeks earlier, Hermione had seen herself as the wronged woman.

But she had never stopped to consider Astoria’s feelings or really think of her as more than some nebulous person. From Astoria’s point of view, Hermione was a free agent. And given that, apparently, they had a real male/female ratio problem within the Death Eaters, Hermione theoretically had her pick of the draw, whereas Astoria’s marriage had been meticulously curated by the Dark Lord. 

Hermione wondered just how lonely Astoria must feel – like a fish out of water. Had she made any friends? Hermione had only limited exposure to the Death Eaters her age. She frankly wasn’t particularly fond of any of them other than Millie, whom Hermione found to be an anomaly. But at least Hermione had an ally in Draco, whereas Astoria had no one.

But what could Hermione possibly do about it? She couldn’t risk honesty in this situation. Though she could, of course, control her base impulses, at least until they were out of Death Eater territory. This led to a question she patently did not want to consider: what if they were still here in three weeks _? _ Thus far, their progress had been negligible, and they would theoretically need to remain here until Harry and Ginny made contact. 

Hermione had  _ tried _ not to care about Draco, to rationalize that her feelings were the result of a rather intense month spent nearly exclusively with just one person. That their few – relations – were the result of lust and nothing more. She notably tried not to think about his declaration of love that last night in Cambridge. Instead, she had developed a perfectly rational explanation for his outburst: he, having grown up in an insular society with a limited number of females his age, was so intrigued by someone different that he confused his fascination with love. 

The problem was, just  _ thinking  _ about Draco and Astoria was like a gut punch. As much as she tried to tell herself it was about trust and Draco’s tendency towards lying, if she really admitted it to herself, she was jealous. But, she realized, she didn’t exactly have a right to be jealous. In fact, looking back on her anger at Draco, technically he wasn’t obliged to even  _ tell _ her about Astoria! They had never made promises or commitments to one another, so why did she feel this way?

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hermione finally responded.

“Thank you. I just really would like, once I’m married, for my husband to be mine, and only mine. Do you understand?” The young witch looked at her, the serene smile now a light frown.

“Yes, I understand,” Hermione told her, and really, she did. She  _ could _ control her impulses, and it would be more appropriate for their entire mission if she and Draco refrained from any further ‘activities.’ So she nodded and smiled at the younger woman, mentally committing to distancing herself from Draco and limiting their time together to strictly business. Perhaps after some time her feelings for him would dull, and she wouldn’t feel so tied up in knots.

“Thank you.” Astoria smiled, drinking the last of her tea and standing up. “It was nice to hear about Daphne.” She nodded at Hermione and headed to the doorway, pausing at the threshold before shaking her head and stepping out.

Hermione felt restless, her eyes glazing over the same sentence of a particularly gruesome potion that promised to turn anything to goo. She pulled out the Marauder’s Map and, confirming the area around her makeshift lab appeared vacant, went to the castle, hoping to distract herself from her swirling thoughts.

* * *

_ Later that afternoon _

“Father.” Draco frowned as he walked into the Great Hall, eyes darting around the room. “Did you summon me?” 

“Yes,” Lucius drawled, looking up from where he sat at a table in the center of the hall. “We haven’t had a chance to speak since your return. I’ve been hoping you would come visit me.” He sounded distinctly bored and remained seated. 

Draco approached the table, noticing the parchments arranged in neat piles. “My apologies, Father. I didn’t know you expected me.” He bowed his head automatically in respect.

“Hmm.” Lucius looked at him carefully. “You haven’t said much about your time  _ away _ .”

“Haven’t I?” Draco blinked. “There really isn’t too much to say.”

“Is that true?” Lucius questioned. “You were there for 5 weeks. Surely you must have  _ something _ to say.”

Draco attempted to keep his expression neutral as he contemplated the situation. Did his father suspect something? As far as he was aware, he hadn’t given the slightest indication of his ‘adjustment’ in loyalties. He had seen friends, continued training, and followed orders. Of course, he  _ had _ been avoiding his father...

“What would you like to know?” Draco finally asked.

“Perhaps how you found the  _ Alliance _ ,” Lucius spat.

“It was–” Draco paused, “suffocating.” 

“Was it?” Lucius raised his eyebrows. “How so?”

“They don’t allow you to use magic there as you wish. It’s regulated,” Draco explained.

The older man frowned. “And wizards have submitted to regulation?”

Draco watched his father carefully, contemplating his next move. He and Hermione had been purposefully vague when describing how they met and the details of their departure from the WEA. They had assumed the Death Eaters would have no interest in hearing about the world, and so far, that assumption had been correct. The Dark Lord was only too happy to hear about how horrible everything was and how amenable Hermione was to joining them. 

He wondered what had made Lucius skeptical? Was it that Draco had been avoiding him? Or perhaps there was something he missed.

“They don’t seem to have much choice.” Draco shrugged.

“Hmm.” Lucius nodded. “And what of Ms. Granger?

“What about her?”

“The Dark Lord has told you the prophecy. Do you think she can do it?” Lucius’ bland expression revealed nothing.

_ What is he asking me? _ His father didn’t discuss tactics or gossip with him; it wasn’t done. Was it perhaps a legitimate question? It wasn’t entirely unreasonable – she was somehow supposed to return the world to how it was. Even someone like Lucius Malfoy would want to understand more, like  _ how _ she could possibly do it. 

In fact, that was the question Draco knew the other Death Eaters whispered to one another: how was it that a  _ Mudblood _ could possibly hold such power? Sure, the Dark Lord was vocal in his belief that Hermione wasn’t  _ really _ a Muggleborn but, regardless, it made the others antsy. And frankly, he was getting somewhat concerned with the lack of clarity in the Dark Lord’s plan.

“I don’t know,” Draco started. They assumed the Dark Lord must have known about Hermione’s role in the  _ Event _ ; presumably that was why he assumed the prophecy referred to her. But it was questionable if he had told others. 

Draco and Hermione had  _ not _ revealed what Sirius told her. Instead, they indicated Hermione had been able to recover some innocuous memories, and her powers came with them.The Dark Lord seemed satisfied with the explanation, but now, given his father's targeted line of questioning, Draco couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the Dark Lord was somehow aware that Hermione knew of her role in the Event. “She’s intelligent,” Draco conceded.

“If you say so,” Lucius deadpanned.

“Are you questioning the prophecy?” Draco asked, head tilted to the side. What he really wanted to know was if his father questioned the Dark Lord’s _ interpretation _ of the prophecy.

“Our Lord is wise. He understands such matters far better than I do,” Lucius clipped.

“I agree.” Draco nodded.

“So, you didn’t see anything in her that was – notable?” Lucius asked.

Draco felt the skin on the back of his neck warm. He could count  _ many  _ things about Hermione that he considered notable _ , _ but of course, none of those things were quite applicable at the moment. The memory of her casting a Patronus came to the forefront of his mind, a truly notable feat of magic. But a Patronus was inherently  _ light, _ so what exactly did that mean? Of course, the Dark Lord espoused that power was neither light nor dark, but  _ still _ ... It was well known that users of the dark arts were unable to produce a Patronus. 

“She seemed to pick up new spells quickly,” Draco pointed out.

“Hmm.” Lucius nodded before his wand buzzed and a parchment floated up to him.

“Do you need anything else, sir?” Draco asked.

“Just one thing. I noticed one of your mother’s journals missing from my library. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to it?” Lucius raised a single eyebrow in question.

Draco swallowed. “My apologies, Father. I took it upon returning. I can put it back.” 

“Hmm.” Lucius narrowed his eyes. “You only needed to ask. But why, exactly, did you take it?”

“Well,” Draco started. His mother’s journals had intrigued Draco as a child, but as he got older, he had more or less forgotten them. After his encounter with Severus Snape, Draco sought, well, anything that would shed some sort of light to the memory that was now stuck in his head. “I’ve been having dreams about her.” That was the truth, just not the whole truth.

“Strange.”

“Indeed,” Draco confirmed.

“That is all.” Lucius placed his head down and returned to his parchment. Draco let out a slight exhale and turned to the door, almost jumping upon seeing the Dark Lord’s giant snake. He raised his eyebrows, surprised, and turned to his father who explained without looking up, “Nagini has been restless lately. Our Lord has allowed her free range of the castle.” 

Draco shivered slightly, and his eyes went wide as they glazed over the markings on the snake's head. It was a familiar marking, one he'd never been close enough to recognize before now. His face paled, his breaths quickening as the snake turned away, slithering to the other side of the hall.

He shook his head, forcing himself to take deep breaths, and left, scratching at his right shoulder.

He had just turned down the path to Hogsmeade when a figure appeared on his right. “Draco.” 

He jumped. “Shit, Hermione! You scared me.”

She bit her lip. “Sorry, I was studying in my lab and on my way out when I, well – overheard you and your father.” 

Ah, he realized what that look was:  _ guilt _ . “Alright.” He frowned.

“Why did he interrogate you like that?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. It could have been inherent curiosity, or perhaps he was asked to.” 

“I had a visitor this morning,” Hermione told him. “Astoria.”

He stopped and turned to her. “What?”

She kept walking. “Mm-Hmm. She uh–” Hermione bit her lip again. “I believe she suspected why we took so long in the bathroom the other night.”

Draco had just caught back up to her, eye twitching slightly. “And what’d she do? What did she say to you?”

“Relax, she was perfectly cordial. We talked a little bit about home – I mentioned the news about her sister. And then she mentioned that she would like to have her husband to herself once she gets married.” She looked at him pointedly.

“That’s none of her business,” Draco drawled.

“Yes, that’s right Draco,” Hermione bit out sarcastically. “The poor woman was sent here for the sole purpose of becoming your wife, but who you sleep with is none of her business.” She stopped and turned to him, grabbing his elbow. “That’s not true, is it? Do Death Eaters believe it’s okay to just cheat on their wives?”

Draco shut his eyes for a moment. “I don’t believe so, and that’s not what I meant. Just that I  _ don’t _ know her yet, and we are  _ not  _ married.”

“You’re engaged,” Hermione pointed out.

“Yes, and it was  _ arranged _ .” 

“You Death Eaters are quite strange with the way you think that just because an engagement is arranged, somehow proper rules of etiquette and respect don’t apply!” She let go of his arm and kept walking.

“I don’t understand – are you on her side?” he called as he caught up to her.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “But regardless of where we are or how we got into this situation, I’ve found I don’t quite feel comfortable with the idea that our,” she paused, “indiscretions are causing her harm.”

He grunted. “So you want to stop all indiscretions?” He could tell she was struggling to adopt her ‘rational Hermione’ persona.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “At least until the current – situation – is resolved.”

“Alright,” he told her.

“Alright?”

“Well, yes. If Astoria knows something, and after my father’s interrogation as you called it... perhaps you’re right.” He smiled.

“I just figured you’d put up a bit of a fight.” Hermione frowned. 

“Just do me a favor,” Draco whispered, his mouth hovering centimeters from her ear. “Try to bring this situation to an end – quickly.” He moved back a foot and smirked at her, appreciating the way her mouth opened and her eyes blinked.

“Of course,” she responded finally, shaking herself. They were quiet, watching the last of the sunset in the distance as they walked through the small main street in Hogsmeade. “Draco,” she started, “why did you really take your mother’s journal?”

He looked torn for a moment before nodding. “I was hoping to figure out what happened to her. Snape believed that the Dark Lord killed her out of revenge. I figure maybe she talked about  _ something _ in there.”

“Did you find anything?” Hermione asked.

Draco shook his head. “I was planning to read it through one more time before returning it. For the most part it’s quite – well, boring. She wrote about being pregnant, about how she pictured my life as a small child. Nothing in the journal seemed to indicate she feared for her life, or had any idea of what was coming.” He frowned.

“I’m sorry Draco,” she said earnestly before stopping, having just reached Millie’s house. “Well, let me know if, er, you need anything.” She blinked awkwardly.

“Mm-Hmm.” He nodded. “And have you made any progress on understanding the Hogwarts magic?”

“Unfortunately, my progress seems to have stagnated.” She frowned.

“Well, I’ll try and come by your lab this week.” He nodded politely.

“Thank you.” She headed inside, feeling overly exhausted.

She shut the door and was alarmed to find a man sitting on her sofa. “Theo?” she said as she recognized him.

“Oh, sorry to startle you.” He smiled sheepishly. She noticed a few books sitting next to him. Watching her, he started, “You uh, never came by to pick up the Ancient Runes books so I figured I would bring them to you.” 

“Ah.” She smiled politely, her heartbeat still surging at the unexpected intrusion. “Thank you.” 

“I thought maybe we could spend some time together. We had a nice time talking the other night, didn’t we?” He smirked, standing up and placing the books on Millie’s coffee table.

“Hmm–” Hermione blinked, “I’m not sure that’s quite appropriate.”

He chuckled and walked over to where Hermione stood. 

She took a step back on instinct. 

“I have to admit, I’ve thought of you quite a bit since that day at the pub.”

“That’s – nice of you?” she said as innocently as possible, her brain scrambling for how to get out of this situation. She recalled Draco’s worries and misgivings about Theo and all the times she’d simply dismissed them out of hand, and she started panicking. “I’m actually quite tired and plan to head upstairs to sleep, perhaps we can finish this discussion at another time?”

“Hermione.” He quickly moved to where she stood, forcing her back against the wall, his warm breaths hitting her neck. “I want you.” He placed his hands against the wall, his larger body surrounding her.

She was able to duck through his elbow and took a defensive stance.

“I’m sorry Theo. I’m not interested in you in that way,” she told him, pulling her wand out.

He smiled, almost as though this was precisely the reaction he was hoping for. “Oh, c’mon. I’m a catch for a Mudblood.” He wordlessly disarmed her and approached her again, this time grabbing her arms in one hand and holding them over her head. 

_ What the hell, _ she thought, her mind running fast as she tried to grasp what was happening. Her training kicked in, and she brought her knee up to his crotch. He let go of her arms briefly, and she pushed the palm of her hand into his nose and ran.

“What’s your problem?” he called out, but she was already out of the house and on her way to the only place she felt safe. She had barely left Millicent’s property when she felt her whole body freeze. Theo walked up to her and smirked as her body collapsed to the ground, frozen. She was completely helpless so she turned to her logical mind. She knew the counterspell to this – _Finite Incantantum_. But she had never even used it with a wand, let alone wandlessly and wordlessly. She thought the words with all her might, trying to draw on the proper emotion behind it.

But it was useless. Suddenly he was straddling her, his face determined. She wondered if this is what Death Eaters  _ did _ . And suddenly, as she saw him disrobe, she felt a fear she had only ever felt once before in her life – an overbearing sense of helplessness. Her eyes went wide, and she overcame the spell and she screamed _. _

He was gone.

Her legs immediately regained feeling, and she stood, the world a strange silent haze. Her would-be rapist was slumped against a tree 30 meters away. And she felt it then.

She felt  _ power _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW** : There is an attempted sexual assault at the end of the chapter. It is reasonably short and non-explicit.
> 
> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/emotions/GIFs!


	36. Chapter 36

_ Hogwarts _   
_ November 21, 2006 (cont.) _

Hermione only had a few moments before utter chaos surrounded her. Death Eaters came running, pointing wands and screaming things that her mind couldn’t comprehend. She felt an odd sense of calm, tilting her head as she watched the soldiers on duty slowly approach her. Everything was a strange blur, the colors a faded monotone. 

Until she turned to her right and saw  _ him _ again. It was like someone snapped their fingers and suddenly the sounds were too loud, the colors too bright. The soldiers on duty were all speaking to each other, trying to figure out what happened. A few of them walked over to Theo and checked on him, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel disappointed when she realized he was still alive. She noticed everyone seemed reluctant to come near her, instead circling her and looking warily at the ground. She followed their gaze and saw the scorch marks surrounding her.

It was like the  _ Event  _ again, but on a much smaller scale. She had recognized the feeling though, that same sense of utter hopelessness, and she understood now what Sirius meant when he had referred to the magic as  _ primal  _ and out of her control. Because in a way, in that moment, she was more of a conduit for the magic than the wielder of it. 

And for a few moments after, she could feel the  _ humming _ of that magic and had a sudden realization: the same power that had flowed through her, was what flowed through Hogwarts. She wasn’t sure why or how she had come to that conclusion; perhaps it was the familiar  _ hum _ that she recognized from her time in the castle. Or it may have been the magic itself that somehow sparked the realization.

And then she remembered what had happened to precipitate the use of that magic and felt nauseous. What if she hadn’t been able to release it? She had been disarmed, and Theo’s size and magical proficiency meant any self-defense was ultimately worthless. She shivered at the thought, her heart racing.

“Hermione!” Millie called out and raced towards her, frowning at the burnt earth surrounding Hermione before standing a foot away. “What happened?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak and closed it again, her mind caught up in trying to understand why he did it? Did she say or do something to give him the idea she was interested? It seemed so sudden; was there some element to Death Eater culture she was unaware of? She reprimanded herself; she had clearly said no, it didn’t matter whether she had given any kind of indication of interest. But he had seemed so calm about it. Like it was a matter of fact that he was entitled to her, and she should be grateful because she was a Mudblood.

She felt sick again. Was this how they all felt here? That because she was Muggleborn, they had certain rights to her? What if it was worse? What if men in this civilization felt entitled to take all women at will? She looked at Millie, who seemed genuinely concerned, and hoped that was not the case. And then she thought of Draco; would he have behaved the same if he had not known her before, had they not been on the run together?

Her breathing grew labored as a hundred different thoughts swirled in her mind. “He,” Hermione started finally, pointing to where a couple of the soldiers were handling Theo, “attacked me.”

Millie frowned. “But why?”

Hermione shook her head, realizing Millie didn’t understand, and wasn’t sure what to say. At that moment, the soldiers shifted and a figure in black floated towards her. 

“You have given these soldiers quite a scare,” the Dark Lord said with a slight sneer.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to say; should she  _ apologize _ ? She was struggling to maintain her façade, but she knew it was critical, perhaps now more than ever. “Theo tried to, erm, he attacked me. My… magic must have responded reflexively. It was an accident.”

His sneer turned somehow more menacing, and Hermione instinctually shrank back. He started, “It wasn’t  _ accidental _ , it was  _ old _ .” He looked positively  _ thrilled  _ by this fact. 

Hermione had to tamp down her anger. She had almost been  _ raped, _ and the Dark Lord seemed happy that he could now confirm she had this power?

And then it hit her; he’d been trying to get her to do this since she got here! That was why her ‘lessons’ consisted of Carrow attacking her endlessly. She couldn’t help but wonder if Theo attacked her of his own volition, or if perhaps this had been an order by his leader...

Once more, Draco’s warning echoed in her mind — his ramblings about how Theo had been personally meeting with the Dark Lord and bragging about his new status...

“It was, sir?” she asked, her voice weak.

“Yes. You, my girl, seem to have access to the oldest of magics. There are few of us who could recognize it, but it is undeniable. I’ve felt it only once before.” 

Hermione assumed he was referring to the  _ Event _ . “Oh,” she responded, blinking. The look the Dark Lord gave her was predatory. She tried to stand up straighter, keep her attention focused on the situation at hand and not show weakness.

“You can stand down,” he told the soldiers who nodded and backed away. He returned his gaze to Hermione, giving her a calculated look. “I don’t believe it is necessary for you to continue your lessons.” 

She nodded, a little fearful of what he could possibly want her to do instead. 

He continued, “Perhaps you should work on finding this magic outside of... pressing situations.” He sneered at her and turned, floating back to Hogwarts.

WIth the soldiers and the Dark Lord gone, she collapsed into Millie, her eyes watering. 

“Hermione, what is it?” Millie asked. 

Hermione assumed it was obvious and looked at the other woman incredulously, regaining her footing. The pair started towards Millie’s house, Hermione desperate to get away from the ring of desolation, but also not looking forward to entering the living room where the attack began.

“Millie... Theo, he uh… he was trying to rape me,” Hermione told her, unwilling in this instance to try and downplay or otherwise obfuscate the facts. Millie had, thus far, been kind and seemed like a good person. Of course, prior to this evening, she would have said the same about Theo, with the caveat that perhaps he was a touch prejudiced.

“Oh my goodness,” she gasped, and Hermione felt relieved, after being worried for a moment she was going to be told she had no rights. “That’s awful – I can’t believe he would do that.” She shook her head.

“Me neither,” Hermione agreed. “I’m quite exhausted. I think I’ll just go to sleep.” Millie nodded, and Hermione headed straight to her bedroom.

She shut her bedroom door and nearly shouted when she saw a dark shadow by the window, until she recognized him. “What the hell, Draco? What are you doing in here?” she hissed.

Ignoring her outburst, he started, “What happened? I heard you scream and then saw the commotion.” He slowly shuffled towards her.

She looked at him and suddenly remembered when they first met — how incredibly naïve he had seemed at the time, almost childish. She had found it endearing, the small things he didn’t understand. But was living in this place emotionally stunting? Was the Dark Lord building an army of magically capable people without a proper conscience? 

But of course, that was likely exactly what he was doing. He taught a skewed morality, as was clearly written in the  _ Pureblood Manifesto _ . And for a moment, she felt truly alone amongst Death Eaters.

Draco must have sensed her unease because he frowned. “Are you alright?”

She heaved an uneasy laugh. “Am I alright?” She wanted to scream but didn’t want to alert Millie. She was quite certain it was of utmost impropriety for a man to be in her room. “ _ Am I alright?”  _ she whisper yelled at him,

“Hermione,” he said softly, putting his hand against her arm. She flinched reflexively and he frowned. “Did someone hurt you?”

She blinked. “Theo. He was here when I came home,” she explained, her eyes not quite meeting his. “He uh, seemed to be interested in me. Didn’t quite take it well when I told him I wasn’t interested.”

Draco’s eyes went wide, and his face burned red. “He tried to force you?” he asked.

Again, the reaction gave her comfort. But then she had to question – was he upset because of Theo’s actions or because they were against her? She shook herself, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. “Yes.” 

“What the fuck, Hermione? What happened?” He seethed, nostrils flared, and Hermione felt like she had been slapped.

“Are you angry at me?” She took a step back, hitting her head against the wall and wincing.

He furrowed his brows and shook his head. “No, sorry. I’m just – angry with the situation. And that you were hurt. I’m sorry.” 

She nodded and explained, “He tried to kiss me. When I told him I wasn’t interested, he tried to force himself. He had me—” she shook her head, trying to focus. She reminded herself he failed and nothing happened. 

She swallowed. “He disarmed me. I was able to briefly get away, but he did something to freeze me. He was about to—” she looked at the floor before meeting his gaze once more. “But then  _ it _ happened again, I just... exploded. When I was next aware, he was far away and the earth around me was scorched. It was like the  _ Event. _ ”

“Thank goodness for that,” Draco said quietly. “I’m sorry, I should have walked you into the house, or looked into Theo more—“

“What could you have done, Draco? You warned me there was something off about him, and I didn’t believe you… I don’t blame you,” she told him quietly.

“You don’t?” he questioned. “You’re looking at me like you don’t even know me. You’re creeping away anytime I come near you. What is it?”

Hermione realized he was right, she  _ had _ been inadvertently creeping away from him. “It’s not about you,” she told him a partial truth. She didn’t blame him, but the ordeal made her realize just how little she knew about him. Did he have girlfriends when he was younger? What was growing up like for him? Beyond the cute stories of children running around a castle, who was he, really?

“We can go,” he told her, “we can go now. Tell Potter and Weasley that it was too much. Hopefully they can figure out more on their end.” 

She found some comfort in his offer but shook her head. She felt her heart rate calm, the adrenaline finally leaving her system. “We can’t. This is bigger than  _ us _ .” He looked ready to argue so she explained, “I believe the magic that I used tonight is the same that flows through Hogwarts. I’m hoping perhaps now that I have a better understanding of how it feels, I’ll be better able to find the nexus.”

He still looked concerned. “If you change your mind, at  _ any _ time, just tell me.” 

“I will.” She offered a soft smile.

“I could kill him, you know.” 

She wasn’t sure what exactly he was trying to convey and tilted her head. “Would you feel that way if you didn’t care for me?” she asked.

He frowned. “Perhaps I wouldn’t feel so strongly but yes, I would feel horrible regardless.” He took a levelling breath. “You know that, right?”

She gave a slight nod. “I think so.” Her usual refrain: she  _ wanted _ to think the best of him, she  _ wanted _ to trust him.

He seemed defeated, hurt, but had the presence of mind not to say anything. “Do you need anything?” he asked. When she shook her head, he continued, “I’ll go then.” 

“Wait.” Hermione grabbed his arm, surprising both of them. The idea of him gone, of her all alone in that room, was suddenly more frightening than the idea of him there. “Can you stay. Please?” she begged. 

He nodded silently.

The adrenaline gone, she felt utterly exhausted. She shrugged off the robe she had on, leaving it carelessly on the otherwise spotless floor, and crawled into bed. After a minute, she felt a shift to her side, and Draco gently pressed a hand to her shoulder, as if asking for permission.

Hermione felt the last bit of her control fade away as the tears began to stream freely. Draco moved his hand, but she grabbed it, clutching it to her side. He adjusted so that his body was wrapped around hers, his left hand gently brushing her hair. They lay there, silently, as Hermione let herself finally  _ feel _ everything – not think, or rationalize. She remembered the fear she felt, the utter terror of the moment and how helpless she was.

She wasn’t sure how long they lay like that until finally, the tears stopped. She turned to Draco, her face red and eyes puffy. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he whispered.

* * *

_ London _   
_ November 24, 2006 (3 days later) _

Harry and Ginny walked through King’s Cross station; Harry had donned a disguise to avoid unnecessary attention as they searched for the legendary Platform 9 ¾. The London train station had somewhat recovered from the damage inflicted in the dark years between the  _ Event _ and the founding of the WEA. While many of the railways continued to be damaged beyond repair, the WEA had restored the tracks between London and some of the outlying suburbs and to several other major cities in the UK. While the station lacked the bustle that Harry vaguely recalled from his childhood, there was a certain hopefulness to the utter banality of seeing men and women calmly board a train.

Dumbledore had explained the logistics behind how to get to Platform 9 ¾, and as Harry approached, he found himself quite grateful the two neighboring platforms seemed to be abandoned. He and Ginny held hands and walked up to the column as Dumbledore described; they attempted to push against it but nothing happened.

Harry frowned. “This is it – right?”

Ginny nodded and cocked her head. “Maybe the magic has to be manually renewed? Or it’s turned off, perhaps?”

Harry shrugged. He didn’t know much about the station; he was vaguely aware there had been a bombing here some time in the early days after the  _ Event _ . But Dumbledore had (condescendingly) informed them that no simple ‘Muggle’ bomb could disrupt the magic. “Maybe Dumbledore was wrong?” he suggested.

Ginny frowned and took out the Horcrux detector, holding it towards the column. “Well this is interesting. It doesn’t detect a Horcrux, but it does seem to detect a soul.”

Harry whipped his head towards her. “What does that mean?”

“Well—” she bit the inside of her cheek “—from what Dumbledore described, I assume that Platform 9 ¾ is actually in this column, just in a slightly different dimension, so this device is still picking up on it. Meaning, there’s something still there. Or more likely, someone, but the column trick just isn’t working.” She pressed her hand against the column again, further demonstrating.

“Alright. So, any ideas?” Harry asked.

Ginny considered. “Well, obviously, there is a way to get there. Someone must have been the first to figure out how to do it. So, what do we know about different dimensions?”

“Not very much.” Harry shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. “No, you probably know more than you realize. Think about Sirius’s house and how impossibly big that upstairs hall was. That was a different dimension.”

“Alright, but just to clarify, just because I may have been in a different dimension doesn’t mean that I actually know anything about them.” He smiled.

“Noted.” She shook her head and re-focused on the column. 

“What are you thinking?” Harry asked after a few minutes of silence. 

“In the Corps, we’re trained to see past glamours and illusions—“

“Like you did at the Ministry!” he interrupted.

“Yes—” she gave him a pointed look “— I want to see if I can leverage a similar technique to see the dimension where the platform is...” she trailed off.

Harry nodded and stood back quietly. After a few more minutes of watching Ginny stare silently at the column, he started walking around, checking if maybe there was something else they missed. 

“Ginny,” he shouted, staring at a faint shimmer on the opposite side of the column.

She came over and frowned. “What is that?”

He pressed his hand to the odd shimmer but didn’t feel anything. “No idea.”

She took out her wand and mumbled something before explaining, “It looks like residue from some sort of curse and… something else.”

He frowned. “It looks familiar.”

“The cloak!” she exclaimed. Harry pulled out the invisibility cloak and Ginny once more whispered into her wand before smiling. “It looks like your cloak uses similar, though not identical magic to what this column uses – or used.”

“So?”

“So, I believe that if we’re under the cloak, we may have the ability to see the dimension where the platform resides, or perhaps at least the way to  _ get _ there.”

Harry shrugged. “Worth a shot.” He draped the cloak over them and peered out expectantly. The world around them shimmered, but there didn’t seem to be anything extra-dimensional.

“Oh!” Ginny pointed out, ducking in and out of the cloak. “See that line?”

Harry nodded. “You think if we touch it, perhaps we’ll get there?”

Ginny shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

He blinked, frowning. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we get sucked into some sort of vortex, or get trapped between dimensions, or cursed, or—“

“I get it.” Ginny placed her hand over his mouth. “You’ve really seen too many movies.”

The pair cautiously placed their hands on the small line and instantly fell through the column. Once Harry had effectively regained his footing, he noticed the dilapidated state of Platform 9 ¾. The area immediately surrounding where they landed was covered in debris, the sign for the platform itself in pieces. But what really drew his attention was the space 50 meters to their left. The world looked, well –  _ frozen _ for lack of a better word. 

Pieces of debris and what looked like shrapnel hung in the air, as if the explosion from 15 years ago was stuck mid-flight. But the truly odd thing was the two people who were stuck there. They appeared to be frozen in a moment, just out of reach of the debris across the platform from the explosion, their faces trapped in a state of sheer terror. From where Harry stood, he believed it was a boy and a young woman trapped, the latter with her wand out, appearing to be in the process of, or about to, cast a spell.

Harry started walking towards them when Ginny stopped him. “Don’t!” she shouted.

“What is it?” Harry frowned. She picked up a piece of debris and threw it in the direction he was headed. Harry watched, wide-eyed, as the shrapnel froze midair.

“I believe it’s some variation of a stasis spell, though I’ve never seen anything like it. Everything in it has been  _ stuck _ ,” she explained, biting her lip.

“We can’t just leave them.” Harry pointed towards the frozen pair. Ginny nodded, and they began cautiously investigating the field; drawing a line to show where the stasis spell was active. 

“How long do you think they’ve been here?” Harry asked.

Ginny shrugged. “I would guess, based on the fact they appear stuck in the blast, since the explosion.”

“And no one has bothered to come help?” 

“I assume no one could get here. Besides, this platform exclusively goes to Hogsmeade station. If the WEA assumed it was destroyed, there was no incentive to ever come back.” Ginny frowned. “I think perhaps a simple  _ Finite _ would work, but I’m worried that they’re caught mid-explosion, so removing the spell could kill them.”

“So we need to cancel the spell  _ and _ pull them out of harm's way?” Harry surmised. “How bad of an explosion will it be?”

“I’m not sure. I’m hoping that the woman who’s trapped cast the stasis spell using the energy from the explosion to power the stasis, which would explain how the spell lasted this long. It’s the kind of thing we’re trained to do in the Corps, take advantage of our surroundings and what not. It would be quite brilliant in this instance: have the bomb power the stasis charm, and then once the bomb is inert, they would be released. Perhaps she underestimated the power of the bomb,” Ginny suggested. 

“Alright.” Harry nodded. “Perhaps I should do the  _ Finite _ . Then you can summon them, and I’ll immediately shield us? That way you can add your shield to mine once we have them here.”

Ginny shook her head. “You can’t summon a living thing—” she turned her gaze to the woman and boy who were trapped “—but we have a work-around the Corps uses for dealing with Eastern Europeans trying to run the border. I can give it a shot.”

Harry nodded. 

“Okay,” she said, wand raised. “3 – 2 – 1 – NOW.”

The second Harry voiced the  _ Finite Incantatem _ , the scene shifted. The boy was screaming, and the explosion neared the pair. Ginny summoned them, and Harry activated his shield. The boy was still screaming, but the woman quickly recovered. 

“Where the hell did you two come from?” she asked.

Ginny activated her shield, and they watched the end of the explosion, safe from harm. Harry thought Ginny’s assessment was likely correct; the explosion did not seem all that impressive relative to the disrepair evident throughout the rest of the Platform, suggesting that the witch’s spell likely did draw power from the explosion.

“We came from King’s Cross,” Harry explained, releasing his shield and exhaling. The boy had finally stopped screaming and was now sniffling, grabbing onto the woman, who was giving Harry and Ginny rather wary looks. 

Harry asked, “Erm, was it  _ your _ stasis charm that you were stuck in?”

“Yeh, something I was experimenting with, what with all the fundamentalist terrorists and their Muggle bombs.” She looked pretty pleased with herself.

“So – do you have any idea how long you’ve been down here?” Ginny asked.

“I responded to the call not even an hour ago,” she told them, eyeing them with suspicion. “Who are you?”

Harry turned to Ginny briefly before responding, “I’m Harry Potter, and this is Ginny Weasley. Unfortunately, we believe you’ve been stuck down here for a long time.”

The woman darted her eyes between the pair, before raising her wand and responding, “Alright, I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but Harry Potter is a boy.” 

Harry furrowed his brows. “You know me?”

“No, I know James and Lily’s son, not whatever trick of the light you are.” She frowned.

Harry grimaced. “Um. The explosion you are— were in... we believe it happened 15 years ago. We, well, Ginny, figured that the explosion powered your stasis charm, which is why you were stuck for so long.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at him, as though she was trying to figure out if this was some kind of trick. Finally, the boy spoke, “Harry?” He had stopped crying and sounded quite confused.

Harry blinked at the boy; he looked like he was maybe 10 or 11, with brown hair and a sort of odd countenance. And then suddenly it clicked. “Neville Longbottom?” Harry’s eyes went wide.

“Holy shit,” Ginny whispered.

“What?” the woman asked.

“We all thought Neville was dead – it was a rather big deal,” Harry said quietly, thinking about all of the stories and myths surrounding Neville’s disappearance. The prevailing belief was that it was a Death Eater conspiracy, though this development seemed to make that quite unlikely. “What are you even doing here?”

Neville wrinkled his forehead, staring at Harry. “I was grabbed by some Muggles, they said they needed someone magical to get onto the platform.”

“Well, we’re glad you’re alive,” Ginny said before turning to the other woman. “And who are you exactly.”

“Call me Tonks,” she told them. “I’m a – or was, an Auror.”

“Andromeda’s daughter?” Harry asked, hit with a vague memory from his youth.

“Indeed,” she said, frowning. “It’s quite strange to find out you’ve missed 15 years of the world.”

Harry gave her a sympathetic smile. “Well, let’s get out of here and we’ll explain everything to you.”

* * *

_ Chamonix, France _

“I’m sorry,” Tonks said sympathetically after Harry explained the events that led to his mother’s death. The four had portkeyed back to Dumbledore’s chateau, and Harry and Ginny were doing their best to give Tonks the highlights of the formation of the WEA and the past 15 years.

“Thank you. It’s been 15 years for me since her death, though.” Harry smiled. “The WEA was formed shortly after she passed. People finally realized we needed to work  _ together _ and not fight one another.”

“So wizards live with Muggles?” Tonks asked, her eyes betraying her continued disbelief.

“Yes,” Harry started. “Though, the term Muggle has gone out of style; people typically refer to them as ‘non-magicals’.”

“Fascinating.” Tonks shook her head. “How does it work, magicals and non-magicals together?”

“Well, there’s substantial regulation in place to ensure the safety of everyone. But for the most part, I think it’s worked quite well,” Harry explained. 

“And what happened to you-know-who?” Tonks asked.

“Voldemort?” Ginny clarified, earning two winces from the newcomers.

“Well, shortly after the founding of the WEA, Voldemort said if they were given the land encompassing Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, they would stay  _ out _ of the WEA and end all terrorist activities,” Harry explained.

“And the WEA believed him?” Tonks looked incredulous.

“Well, to be fair, other than a couple of assassination attempts we’ve tied the Death Eaters to, for the most part they’ve basically been holed up not bothering anyone,” Ginny replied, watching Harry out of the corner of her eye.

“It sounds like we’re lucky you guys showed up,” Tonks told them thoughtfully,.“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Harry smiled.

“What were you doing there anyways?” Tonks asked curiously.

“We’re on a bit of a – mission, you could say. Can’t really talk about it,” Harry told her.

Tonks’ eyes went wide, her gaze settling behind Harry. “Merlin,” she murmured. 

Harry turned and realized Dumbledore had walked in.

“Nymphadora, it is lovely to see you,” Dumbledore said, as if they had plans for tea.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” she mumbled, gawking.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Indeed. I’ve been assisting young Harry and Ginny here.” Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his use of the word assisting. “Although I am curious why they brought you here?”

“We found them on Platform 9 ¾,” Harry explained. “They were caught in an explosion. Tonks did some sort of stasis charm, and they’ve been stuck in it ever since.”

Dumbledore smiled. “What a fascinating bit of magic! I am glad you seemed to have learned much, even after Hogwarts closed down.” 

“Yup,” Tonks shifted, “became an Auror and everything.”

“Dumbledore, could you do us a favor?” Harry asked. “Could you make them a portkey to London?”

“Of course.” Dumbledore nodded.

“Thanks. It should take them here.” Harry wrote the address for Central Justice on a conjured piece of paper and handed it to him. 

Harry then explained to Tonks, “When you get there, ask for Robards and Fox. Tell them that I sent you. If you have any trouble, ask to speak with Representative Greengrass. They’ll help you both find your family and settle in.”

“Thank you again.” Tonks nodded.

Harry smiled at the pair, feeling a sense of accomplishment. It was one thing to liberate Horcruxes, but to quite literally save two people reminded him of what exactly they were fighting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/emotions/GIFs!


	37. Chapter 37

_ Hogwarts/Hogsmeade _   
_ November 26, 2006 _

It had been five days since Hermione was attacked, and she was slowly adjusting to her new normal. She had learned that Theo was in some sort of magical coma, and there was no indication of when, or if, he would regain consciousness. She was relieved not to have to worry about the man, but she still made a point of keeping her gun close to her at all times.

Since the attack, she no longer had to take “lessons” with Amycus Carrow. Instead, she was expected to practice accessing the ancient magic. Every day, she was called into Hogwarts to provide her “findings” to the Dark Lord. At first, he seemed unbothered by her lack of progress, but his patience seemed to be waning.

“I’m disappointed, Hermione,” he snarled at her.

She blinked, remembering to avoid eye contact, and attempted to find the right words to placate the man. “Sir, I’m not sure how I was able to access the magic. I have been researching—“

“I don’t care about your research. Perhaps you need more incentive,” he sneered. 

She felt her stomach drop at the threat, and considered once more the likelihood that the Dark Lord himself had orchestrated her attack five days earlier.

“No sir. I will work harder.” She bowed, her heart racing.

“You have five days.” He didn’t tell her _what_ would happen in five days. And a part of her wondered why he was even giving her this, but perhaps it came back to that damned prophecy and the “power to choose.” He was still trying to be _amenable_ , or as amenable as a psychotic Dark Lord could be. 

“I will work day and night, sir. Thank you,” she told him, still bowing. He dismissed her with a lazy wave of his hand, and she headed back to her lab. She wondered if he even knew what she did there. How much control and oversight did he truly have in this place? 

With her increased awareness of the primal power that had flowed through her, she had begun to sense the ancient magic within Hogwarts itself. But only barely, as though the magic were faint or weak. But without knowing how much of the ancient magic used to flow through the castle, and only having second hand accounts of how the magic had changed in the past fifteen years, she could only guess what precisely was happening to it. 

Her current hypothesis was that Hogwarts was dying. She couldn’t be certain if the Dark Lord was truly leeching power from the castle, or if it was due to the lack of students, but it seemed the most viable explanation she could come up with. Although, without more data, she was unable to theorize how long it had been dying or when the magic would vanish completely.

The other question was what would happen if, or when, the castle  _ died _ ? What would be the impact on Magic itself? 

Back in her lab, she magically locked the door, finding the action comforting, even knowing that the Dark Lord could most likely intrude at any time. She had not lied to him; she really was trying to get a handle on the primal magic and understand how to access it. Of course, she was doing it for completely different reasons, but regardless, her lab was covered in every book on ancient magic and magical nexuses she could find in her quest for answers.

What she had learned was that the magic wielded by magicals today was, in a sense, a diluted version of the “primal” Magic that came from the nexus. The best she could make sense of it was that, a long time ago, magic was massive and uncontrollable. When Hogwarts was built, the founders “tamed” magic, and witches and wizards were then able to exhibit control of it. She imagined primal Magic was like the sun, beaming everywhere all at once, wrecking everything in its path. The connection between Hogwarts and the magical nexus acted almost as a magnifying glass, allowing the magic to be  _ focused _ . 

Of course, this meant that magic could only be used in bits and pieces, and not in the dramatic ways it had in the past. Hermione grudgingly admitted that perhaps Hogwarts truly  _ was _ special, despite what she had said to Draco when they first met.

So then the question became how was it  _ she _ was able to wield such Magic? She couldn’t fathom anything out of the ordinary about her, so was it just chance? Perhaps she was simply in the right place at the right time. She wasn’t willing to assume it was  _ her  _ when, without further evidence, there was the possibility of it being a coincidence. After all, lightning could strike twice.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she waved her wand, uttering a quick revealing spell to show it was just Draco. She casted an Alohomora, letting him into the classroom.

“Hi,” she greeted before returning to the potion she had been steeping. 

“How was it?” he asked, as he did every day, knowing she had to tell the Dark Lord the bad news.

“Not great. He’s giving me five days to figure this out, until he takes more drastic measures,” she told him without looking up from her cauldron.

“’Drastic measures?’” Draco repeated.

“I assume he’ll try to beat it out of me,” she replied bluntly.

“So, we leave in five days,” he suggested, smiling tentatively.

Hermione considered this, biting the inside of her lip. “I think that might be for the best.”

Draco nodded and walked over to her, examining her potion and the open books. “You still haven’t found anything?”

“I’ve been wandering the castle as much as I can get away with, trying to get a feel for the primal Magic. There are moments where I feel so close... but then, nothing.” She shook her head.

“I had a thought,” he said nervously.

“What is it?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I just, I think you need to relax—” he paused at her incredulous glare, “—no, not like that. I was thinking... the Dark Lord has left the castle for the night. Perhaps I can take you flying?”

“On a broomstick?” she asked, eyes wide. “At night?”

He chuckled. “Yes. I promise, I’m quite a good flyer.”

She shook her head. “Nope. No. No. No, no, no.”

“Please, Hermione. I promise, if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll bring you down to earth and you can continue your endless research.”

She was intrigued by the thought of flying on a broom, but she was also terrified of heights. But she recalled the way Draco talked about flying and wanted very much to see  _ him _ fly. So, despite her better judgement, she agreed, “Fine.”

He smiled brightly and dragged her down to what was once a Quidditch pitch, at least according to the Map. It was quite dark, the sun setting hours earlier, and a sharp biting wind cut through her on the clear night. She shivered, and Draco cast a warming charm.

“Is it okay for you to be here flying with me?” she asked. Since seeing Astoria, she had so far kept her word and ensured her relationship with Draco stayed strictly professional. Of course, the fact that they planned to leave in five days kind of made the situation moot, but Hermione didn’t feel the need to cause the woman any unnecessary pain.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t think it would be looked at as anything more than you learning how to fly.”

She exhaled. “Alright. What do I do?” 

Draco gave her a brief overview of flying mechanics and safety, though he assured her that he was not going to let her fly on her own. He positioned her towards the front of the broomstick, which was far more comfortable than it appeared _. _ He scooted in behind her, grabbing onto her waist. She placed her hands on his wrists and felt his light stubble brush against her shoulder when he whispered, “You ready?”

She could barely breathe. She imagined this was what it would feel like to get on a roller coaster, the sheer anticipation of it. Of course, roller coasters were required to pass extensive safety inspections and had a predetermined path and safety belts. This was a broomstick for goodness sakes! She attempted to tamp down her fear and steady her breathing, leaning against Draco’s chest. She squeezed his hands, holding on for dear life.

He pushed off slowly, but the feeling of her feet hovering off the ground made her stomach lurch, and she let out a small squeal, like a school girl jumping off a swing. Draco chuckled against her ear as he tightened his grip on her waist and steered the broom. “I’ve got you,” he murmured and took them slightly higher.

Hermione suddenly thought to look down and yelped, terrified by how high they were. She knew, rationally, that witches and wizards flew on brooms frequently, but, still, this didn’t seem safe. She was about to say something when, once again, Draco whispered in her ear. “Look up.” 

And she did.

The sky was perfectly clear; there was not a cloud in sight. The stars were unblemished, as bright as she had ever seen, and the Milky Way streamed across above them. She was mesmerized; everywhere she looked, there were an impossible number of stars. How could she have lived two years without this, without appreciating the night sky?

She had almost forgotten she was flying, her head leant against Draco’s chest as she stared up. Her eyes watered, and she felt in that moment something she hadn’t felt in so long. She felt  _ safe _ . It didn’t matter how many feet in the air they were, or that perhaps she didn’t know everything about Draco Malfoy; or even that her rational mind doubted her ability to trust him. 

He had given up everything he knew to help her. Granted, he had learned that the man he revered had murdered his mother in cold blood, but still… he had made a  _ choice _ . She felt a sense of obligation for her part in the  _ Event _ – and a scientific curiosity that drove her. But Draco? Looking back, there were so many paths he could have taken, but he had chosen to  _ help _ .

She turned to look at him, his features soft and his hair windswept. He caught her gaze and smiled. Her breath hitched and she couldn’t look away; this was why she wanted to go flying after all, to watch him do something he loved.

Without really thinking about it, she kissed him. It was chaste, a thank you of sorts, because she didn’t quite have the right words for him at that moment. He had done something for her that night — well, that  _ month, _ but particularly that night. He had reminded her that, even in the darkness, the pitch of black, there were stars. 

He slowed down and brought them to a flat roof at the top of a tower. She felt an odd sense of sadness, a longing for the air and the feeling of weightlessness, where gravity had no control over her. But as she turned to Draco, noticing his furrowed brows, she grew wary. 

“What is it?” she asked.

“I had an ulterior motive for taking you flying tonight. Nothing inappropriate,” he assured her, though she wondered in that moment if she would have had the wherewithal to resist his advances, regardless of his engagement. “I need to tell you something.”

“And you needed to tell me  _ here _ ?” she asked, frowning.

He took a deep breath. “Yes.” He gave her no additional explanation before conjuring a couple of chairs for them. “I re-read my mother’s journal, and I found something.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “What is it?”

“There was a section, I had initially assumed it to be a metaphor but... what if it’s not?” he asked, taking out the journal. He read aloud, “‘ _ I have destroyed it – the darkness in the bookshelf. I couldn’t stand the whispers, but it is gone now. Lucius suspects something is amiss, but I did what I must do.’’ _ ”

Hermione frowned. “What do you think it means?”

Draco showed her the journal and pointed to the ‘f’ in the word bookshelf. She squinted, and her eyes went wide when she recognized it: that damn symbol, the one on the locket and on Regulus’ book. “Holy shit,” she mumbled.

“Yeah.” Draco nodded. “When I first read it, I thought it was simply her way of saying she no longer believed in Pureblood supremacy, or perhaps she cleaned herself of dark magic, and my father suspected her of it. But now I’m thinking — what if she found a Horcrux and destroyed it?”

“And the Dark Lord found out and wanted revenge...” Hermione surmised. “Shit, Draco.”

“I know.” He swallowed.

She reached for his hand, but an unnatural breeze blew past her, like a shift in the air itself.

“Did you feel that?” she asked him, frowning. By the time he shook his head, she was already moving, the strange feeling in the air pulling her towards a trapdoor that led them back into the castle.

“Where are we?” she asked as they walked along a corridor she didn’t recognize.

“Hmm? Not sure exactly.” He blinked.

Hermione paced back and forth, trying to pinpoint the feeling that beckoned her, when a door appeared. “Uh, Draco.” She looked alarmed. “Was that there before?”

“No,” he whispered. “But I’ve heard of Hogwarts being able to grow and create rooms or other things that were needed. I’ve never seen it myself though...” he trailed off.

Without asking Draco for his advice, Hermione opened the door, revealing an endless room, filled with odds and ends. Her eyes widened. “What is this place?”

“I have no idea.” He looked around, frowning _. _

Hermione had already wandered in, darting through the aisles. “Oh my. Draco!” she shouted.

“What?”

“I can feel it: the beckoning breeze I felt out on the tower, only amplified!” She started running and didn’t stop until she was standing in front of a small pedestal. Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto it and was bathed in a blinding light.

“HERMIONE?” Draco shouted, though he sounded far away.

“I’m fine,” she attempted to reassure him, feeling the magic flood through her. 

“Hello, Hogwarts,” she said softly. She could feel the castle, as though it whispered to her, and she realized she was right; the castle was dying. This room, the Room of Requirement, she realized, held the last vestiges of its ancient magic. The magic in this room at this moment — a millennia of students’ and teachers’ junk — was all that remained. 

The castle, or perhaps the nexus beneath it, was weak. Without speaking, she asked a thousand questions. What was happening? Were they on the right track? And the one that kept repeating over and over in her head: Why her? 

The castle could not speak – it was alive and sentient, but it did not grasp human concepts. It merely sang in her head, a familiar tune that somehow told her what she needed to know. After what felt like only a moment, she felt something heavy in her hand, and both the magic and the light vanished.

She stared at the object in her hand, a sword, mesmerized by the elaborate blade and still awed by the experience of communicating with Hogwarts herself.

She stepped down, turning to see Draco seething. “What?” she asked him.

“You just walk in here, run away, and stand on a magical pedestal? Does that seem like a good idea? You’re supposed to be the smart one! The one who makes the rational choices. I thought – what if it had taken you away?” he yelled.

“I was only up there for a minute,” she argued with a shrug.

“You were there for an hour!” he cried. “Do you know what that is?” He pointed at the sword in her hand. She raised the sword in order to examine the hilt. Draco jumped back to avoid being stabbed.

“I think this is something that will kill a Horcrux,” she explained, admiring the sword in her hand. 

“It’s the Sword of Gryffindor,” Draco told her. 

“Oh!” She smiled, squinting at the marks and craftsmanship, before her lips fell into a straight line.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s a strange feeling I had, like the castle was trying to say the sword belonged to me. Something that was left here…” She frowned as she tried to put the feelings into words.

“What does that mean?” Draco tilted his head, looking at the sword warily.

“I’m not quite sure. Just… it’s different. But I feel sure it will do what we need it to,” she explained. “I asked Hogwarts ‘why me?’ And the sword was simply there.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“I’m still mad at you,” Draco eventually muttered, though he seemed more intrigued than upset. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

“I was able to, well, not exactly  _ talk  _ to Hogwarts... but I communicated with her in some way. That’s how I’m confident this will kill Horcruxes. And now I know there are three Horcruxes in this school.” She frowned.

His brows furrowed, and he shifted his eyes to avoid her gaze. “I think one is the snake.” 

“The snake?” she asked.

Draco continued, “The Dark Lord has this awful snake, Nagini. Usually, he keeps it in its quarters, but lately, he’s been giving it greater reign of the castle. I’m surprised you haven’t seen it. Anyway, it has some odd markings above its eyes, kind of like…” he trailed off uncomfortably.

“Alright, so, the snake. Then what else?” she asked. 

Draco looked at her and audibly swallowed. “I think one’s a person.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed. “Are you sure?” she asked softly.

He quirked his lip. “It makes sense.”

Hermione’s eyes were drawn, but she nodded. “Alright, let’s worry about that one last. So, if one’s in the snake, and one’s in a person, there’s still one more in the castle. Any ideas?”

When he offered no solutions, she continued, “I guess it’s time to call Harry and Ginny.”

* * *

_ Little Hangleton _   
_ Earlier that day _

Harry looked warily at the shack in front of them, its dilapidated state and the restless trees with their gangly branches surrounding it gave off the eerie feeling of a haunted house. 

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this movie,” he told Ginny with a half-smile.

She rolled her eyes. “The Horcrux detector isn’t showing anything, but there are some insane wards around this place.”

“And why would anyone feel the need to put up wards to protect a shack in the middle of nowhere?” Harry pointed out. Ginny nodded and pulled an electronic mechanism out of her bag. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Ward disruptor,” she told him. 

He nodded, impressed. He had heard of them, but they were heavily regulated. 

She set a few dials and urged Harry to squat behind a tree beside her. She shouted, “Fire in the hole!” and threw the disruptor towards the shack. They heard a small explosion and peeked out, the path to the house now clear.

“Nice.” He smiled, and she offered a smirk in response. Harry kept expecting a colony of bats to rain down on them or an axe murderer to show up. 

Right as they neared the door, Ginny smiled, showing Harry the Horcrux detector. “We got one,” she confirmed. 

As they walked in, the hovel looked as though it had not been touched in a long time, leading Harry to wonder why Voldemort would think it was a good idea to leave a part of his soul here. Though, come to think of it, one would have to know who Voldemort really was to think to check the last known domicile of the Gaunts,  _ and _ they would have to get past the wards. Harry was sure that Voldemort never considered that something like a ‘Ward Disruptor’ would be invented

The place was in shambles; chunks of wall were missing, critters ran rampant, and dust was piled up everywhere. 

Ginny was carefully watching the Horcrux detector, her face a mask of concentration as she attempted to isolate the source of the signal. “It’s over here,” she called out.

Harry scurried over, watching Ginny look intently at the floor. “Where is it?” he asked, expecting to see the diadem.

“The detector indicates it’s here.” She frowned.

Harry ducked down and, noticing a slight bump in the floorboards, removed one, revealing a small box. “Well, I don’t think that’s a diadem.” He summoned the box, not wanting to touch it, and spelled it open. Within the box was a ring with the same markings as the locket and Regulus’ book. 

Harry was suddenly overcome with the sudden desire to put the ring on, but he was shaken out of his reverie by a rough smack on his hand.

“Don’t touch the Horcrux,” Ginny scolded him while magically transferring the object to a jar. Harry shook himself, unsure what had come over him.

“Alright, well, that was easy.” He smiled.

“Why would you say that?” Her face fell.

“What?”

“You can’t say ‘well, that was easy’! That’s when the axe murderer shows up, or the ghosts, or any number of terrible things!” she argued.

“Ha! I’m not the only one who has seen too many movies.” He was quite smug. 

She rolled her eyes. “C’mon, let’s go.”

* * *

_ Chamonix, France _

It was around ten at night when Harry, who had been drifting asleep by the fire in the living room, was startled awake by the sound of  _ voices _ coming from his satchel. It took him a moment to remember the mirror that had been sitting there silently for the last few weeks. 

He pulled out the mirror and elbowed Ginny, who had actually been awake and wasn’t particularly happy about being elbowed in the ribs. “Sorry,” he told her as he gestured to the buzzing mirror.

They awkwardly held the mirror between them. “Hello,” Harry said politely. In the reflection, Hermione sat on what looked like the roof of a tower, looking quite pleased, with Draco hovering behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Where are you anyway?”

“We’re at the castle. How have you guys been?” Hermione started with a slight smile. 

“Good – we’ve found two horcruxes,” Harry informed them.

“That’s – interesting,” Hermione said. “We’ve learned quite a bit in the past couple of hours.” She paused and showed them a sword.

“The Sword of Gryffindor!” Harry exclaimed.

“You know it?” Hermione was intrigued.

“I initially had it on our list of potential Horcrux objects but Harry took it off because it can just appear out of nowhere and can’t effectively be hidden,” Ginny explained.

“Well, we believe it can destroy Horcruxes.” Hermione smiled.

“Really?” Harry asked, leaning towards the mirror.

“We haven’t tested it, but it appears we will get the chance. That’s the next thing we wanted to tell you.” Hermione took a deep breath. “I was able to communicate with Hogwarts. I believe there are three Horcruxes here; we think Voldemort’s snake is one. We also believe a  _ person _ here is a Horcrux, which would leave one more we have yet to identify.”

Harry frowned. “A person?”

Draco and Hermione both shifted their gaze. She finally responded, “Yes.”

Harry nodded but didn’t push the matter any further.

Ginny did the math in her head. “But that means—“

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed, “if you’ve found two, then that means you have three and we have three. Of course, assuming my hypothesis that the Dark Lord split his soul seven ways is correct.”

“Let’s just keep assuming it is,” Harry interrupted.

“Do you have any idea what it is we’re supposed to be looking for?” Hermione asked.

“We initially assumed they would be Hogwarts founders relics; we’ve found Hufflepuff’s cup, and we have the locket from Sirius’s house. But we never found one from Ravenclaw; we figured it would be her diadem,” Harry explained.

Draco nudged Hermione out of the way and interjected, “What does it look like?”

Ginny grabbed a book from the table, finding the page in question. “It’s like this – a sort of tiara.” She attempted to press the image to the mirror

Draco’s eyes narrowed at the image and then widened. “I think I saw that,” he said. “When we were in the Room of Requirement.” He turned to Hermione.

“When did you see it?” Hermione asked Draco.

“When you were ‘communing’ with the castle,” he drawled. 

Hermione glared at him momentarily before returning her attention to Harry and Ginny. 

“Alright, so we’ll get the diadem and destroy it, as well as the snake, and return to London. We’re on a bit of a time crunch here, so we’ll try to get to London with the sword as soon as possible.”

“What about the person?” Harry frowned.

Hermione blinked, looking down at her hands. “I have a theory about that. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.” 

“Alright.” Harry frowned but nodded his acceptance. “We’ll plan to get back to London to meet you as soon as possible. If there’s any trouble — if you get apprehended — ask for me or Daphne.”

“Thank you,” Hermione told him sincerely. “We’ll see you soon.”

* * *

_ Hogwarts/Hogsmeade _

Hermione shut the mirror and turned to Draco. He had conjured a blanket, and they lay together, watching the clear sky give way to clouds as a cold breeze began to blow against their exposed skin.

“This is it,” she told him, her ear against his chest, the  _ ‘thump, thump’ _ bringing her comfort.

“Should we talk about it?” he asked with a frown, gently brushing a hand up and down her arm.

“About what?” she responded quietly.

“The last Horcrux,” his words came out dull, almost monotone.

She bit the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. “Not tonight.” She didn’t even want to think about it. She knew, on some level what it meant, what needed to be done. But to talk about it — to say the words aloud...

“All right—” he exhaled roughly “—what do you think is going to happen?” he asked, his chin on her head and arms wrapped possessively around her. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione mumbled, “we’ll destroy the evil wizard and be hailed as heroes upon returning home.”

He chuckled, his warm breath playing against her cool skin. She smiled at the sensation; she had missed him, his touch. She placed her hands on his, wrapping them more firmly around her as they watched the stars slowly dim, no match for the oncoming storm clouds. “I think the sky knows what’s coming,” she mused.

He nodded. “I don’t mind — I guess I like that the stars aren’t  _ always _ so bright, or else I worry I’d take them for granted.”

She smiled at that, this small insight into Draco Malfoy. 

He started playing with her hair, running his hands through it and trying to tame the flyaways. She turned her head, meeting his gaze head on, and kissed him.

It wasn’t like the kiss on the broomstick, that had been a thank you of sorts. This was something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. His fingers skimmed through her hair, his tongue pressing against her lips.

She clutched his shirt, slanting her mouth to his. Her previous commitment to abstain from him felt like a different lifetime, a different set of assumptions. 

She realized then what this kiss was: it was  _ fear _ , the “what if” the worst happens and they don’t make it out of here. She opened her eyes, recognizing the worry so clear in Draco’s. She wished she had the words to assure him, but she didn’t. So instead, she wrapped her arms around him, while the soft flurries of winter’s first snowfall softly landed atop them.

Draco pulled his face back, casting a quick spell, creating an invisible barrier between them and the oncoming storm. Hermione pressed closer, wrapping her legs around him, as though if she could physically keep him close to her, their other problems would simply evaporate. 

His fingers traced along her sides, sending shivers up and down her spine that had nothing to do with the biting wind. She grabbed at his hair, his face, his arms, his torso — at everything. She was trying to memorize every bit of him, and from the way his hands shifted, from her back to her breasts and down to her thighs, she suspected he was doing the same. 

He lay her down gently, placing her on her side and casting a heating charm. He paused his ministrations, simply gazing at her, balancing on his elbow.

“Hermione—” he started. 

She interrupted him with a kiss, pressing herself flush against him. She recognized that glint in his eye, had an idea of what he was about to say, but she wasn’t ready for it. She may have realized she felt safe with him, but she wasn’t quite ready to recognize anything else that lay beneath the surface. So instead, she deepened the kiss, hoping that for tonight, at least, that this would be enough.

Draco sighed, pushing his tongue against hers, fully willing to be distracted. He wrapped a leg around her, tucking a hand into her waistband, fingers rubbing soft circles over her knickers until she jutted her hips towards him. 

Her breath hitched, and he pulled his mouth back just an inch, watching her as she shut her eyes, focused on the feeling of his fingers on her. 

He pushed his hand into her knickers, gently circling her nub with his thumb. She felt his eyes on her, his soft breaths playing against her neck as he continued prodding and swiping her clit. He pressed a finger within her, slowly sliding it in and out, his every stroke sending tremors through her. 

Hermione writhed against his touch, throwing her head back. He trailed light kisses up her neck, along her scar, finally pressing his lips to hers, swallowing her moans.

She opened her eyes, watching him with the snow falling around them. 

She sucked at his lower lip, pushing her hand down his trousers, roughly stroking his length. “I want you tonight,” she told him, her voice breaking as he roughly placed another finger in her.

“I want you every night.” He smirked but shifted so he was hovering over her. They tore their remaining clothes off hastily, as though worried time would suddenly run out. 

Her chest heaved as she looked up at him, framed by the dark sky above. He looked vulnerable, so far removed from the man he was when she originally found him. Maybe it was the fact they were outside, or that it was snowing, or everything that had happened, but, whatever it was, this was different. 

He gently entered her, exhaling roughly, gripping her hips.

She kept her eyes open and watched as he thrust in a slow rhythm, his eyes an exquisite combination of lust and concentration. Above him, she could see the snow, falling heavier, but knowing to avoid them. For all that she had lived through, knowing about magic and herself being magical, she felt that this moment — watching him and the snow, their lives on the precipice — this moment was  _ magic _ . 

She grabbed his face, pulling his lips to hers and kissing him roughly _.  _ She attempted to match his rhythm, pulling herself up against him. As his movements became more erratic, his thrusts growing in intensity, she closed her eyes, concentrating entirely on the moment.

She felt his lips graze her ear and shivered when his tongue slid over her scar. It was so strange, to consider how far they had come, how that mark on her face seemed so entwined with their story. Her entire body vibrated, his every movement filling her with warmth. He reached under her arms, clutching her shoulders from behind, pushing into her harder. She gasped at the friction, feeling the building warmth like a coil preparing to spring. Her breath was short and she forced her eyes open, needing to watch him.

He was staring at her, his face an open book of fear, longing, lust, and something else she didn’t want to think about. In his final thrusts, she found her release, and she held his gaze, unwilling to look away. She held him, afraid to let go, of what tomorrow would bring. 

But as always, tomorrow would have to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEA 101 can be found on my Tumblr  here.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [ElizColl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl), for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) and [Art3misiA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA) for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @[canttouchthis87](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) posting questionably clever banners for this fic.
> 
> I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/emotions/GIFs!


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